The rain had paused and I ventured out for a 7 miler, looping from Castle Square (oddly a big ROUNDabout in Weoley Castle but also remote from the actual castle) into Northfield and then back up to the house. Brooks broke their banks inundating roads and creating the kind of low rumble mighty rivers exhibit at their narrower sections. At my southernmost point this trip, I took a break at the Woodpecker.
This is a proper local with a half dozen hale fellows sitting around quietly — and pointedly — NOT watching the women’s World Cup match being broadcast on telly. One of them, sitting in the shadows at the far reaches of the pub, greeted all of us individually (first names for the others, “mate” to me) as he made his way to the jukebox over my left shoulder. The first thing up in his playlist was some Wayne Newton followed by a couple of Petula Clark cuts…not at all what I was expecting from this guy who seemed about my age and looked like a former boxer or mob enforcer.
“So, where’re you running to, then?” the frankly stunning barmaid asked as I refused a refill on my way out to the streets. She seemed incredulous when I said I was going to Selly Oak.
I answered: “It’s not as far as … ” I paused a few seconds with my forefinger up in the air in the universal pause-for-a-few-seconds gesture until I was able to synchronize with the song, ” … Downtown, things’ll be great when you’re … Downtown, no finer place for sure … Downtown, everything’s waiting for you.” She was grinning, the guy nearest me shook my hand, and only the juke box DJ avoided eye contact (but he did lift his head slightly as I passed in what I’ll take as a nod).
Very cool house.
Endless British Pub Crawl (Part 3) 