In town

“Do you want to look at my photos of Newark, Andrew?”

“Not really.”

“I’ll take that as a definite yes.”

“Ugh.”

“Remember this? The old Marks and Spencer being redeveloped. That dirty great hole in the middle of town.”

“It was hard to miss it.”

“Looks like most of the site will be housing. At least they kept the façade.”

“Only the first floor. That’s hardly anything.”

“Next door used to be Woolworths. Until they went bust.”

“They still have them in Germany.”

“Marks and Woollies next door to each other and Boots over the road. Used to be typical of a UK high street.”

“But now they’re all gone. I’ve heard this story before.”

“They aren’t, though. Boots is still there and Marks has moved to by the old Warwicks brewery.”

“Loads of pub pictures coming up, I suppose.”

“There sure are, son. There sure are.”

“Don’t talk like John Wayne, Dad.”

“Starting with the new pub, the Loose Cannon.”

“I quite liked it, Dad.”

“Me too. Quite pub-like somehow.”

“It is a pub.”

“Yes, but new pubs often don’t really feel like pubs.”

“Really?”

“Do you remember that horrible pint of Stout I had?”

“That tasted like it had vanilla in it?”

“That’s the one. That was so horrible.”

“You still managed to finish it.”

“Well. I’m not living in a soap opera. I’m not going to waste most of a pint.”

“There’s a surprise.”

“My second pint, Jaipaul was much better. You seemed to like Marble Bitter”

“It was pretty good.”

“You still went onto cider.”

“Because you can’t get it on draught often here in Amsterdam.”

“You can’t get cask beer, either.”

“I drink that sometimes, too.”

“Not often enough. Your Mum drinks more than you when she’s in Britain.”

“I’m not Mum.”

“Quite a trek after that to the Woolpack?”

“Where?”

“Sorry, the Prince Rupert. One of Newark’s oldest pubs”

“How old?”

“Good question. According to their website 1452. I’d take that with a pinch of salt.”

“Why?”

“Pub histories are notoriously inaccurate. Especially when it comes to founding dates. Which can be several centuries off.”

“So how old is it?”

“Looks around 1500 to me. It has genuine old beams. The next question would be: how long has it been a pub? Though, to be fair, the website only claims it was built in 1452.”

“OK, how long do you think it’s been a pub?”

“No idea. But probably at least 150 years, just because of licensing.”

“It looks pretty old inside.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s always been a pub, though.”

“I suppose so.”

“I took a chance on another Stout here. Skylark Stout. Much better. Very Stouty.”

“You’re so eloquent, Dad.”

“You know what I mean. Roasty.”

“Then why not say that?”

“I did. Sort of. You two were on the cider again. Like, like . . .”

“Young people?”

“I was going to say . . “

“You couldn’t think of an insult that wasn’t racist or misogynistic, could you?”

“No. Nothing that was funny came to mind.”

“Right. Oh, you did take some photos of me and Lexie.”

“Yes. I was under orders. You could try combing your hair sometimes. Look, Lexie made the effort.”

“You can talk, Dad.”

“I’m old. Your hair naturally goes out of control once you pass 65.”

“That’s bullshit, Dad.”

“All those older actors: all wearing wigs. At least if their hair doesn’t look crap. Or they’re bald.”

“Just shut up and get on with your boring photos you’re making me look at.”

“Best not show your Mum that one.”

“Why?”

“I forgot to move my whisky glass out of the way.”

“You think that fools Mum?”

Probably not.

“I’m glad we went for a curry. Though you didn’t eat very much, Andrew, did you? Just starters.”

“I had some naan, too.”

“And beer, obviously.”

“You had your whisky.”

“It’s a shame you didn’t have a curry. It’s the best one I’ve had in ages. Properly spicy.”

“Lexie had a vindaloo.”

“Only because I talked him out of a phall. I’m not as brave as him.”

“Is that all you have from Saturday?”

“I’ve a couple of shots of the A1 Fish Bar.”

“Cool. Look at all that fish.”

“And pies. Don’t forget the pies.”