The exterior of the Fountain is a little worse for wear and I so suspected it was no longer open for business that I didn’t even try the door. As I was leaving to jog on to find another venue, a taxi pulled up and the young woman passenger strode right in. The open door showed a bustling midday crowd. I followed.
A sport channel awaited the day’s cricket and everyone smiled at — then ignored — this stranger covered in sweat and obviously not from the neighbourhood. The barman was an especially friendly young man and striking in his resemblance to Phil Lynott (if he were about a foot taller with a broad, Brummie accent). After pouring my Carlsberg (£2.50), he returned his attentions to the line of regulars weighing down the bar and I examined the walls.
Most of the framed items were old booze adverts and talk of Irish-related events (the first St Pat’s Day Parade in Brum, for instance). One copy of the local paper was also framed relating the time that police raided wrong Fountain for drugs and porn. The only link I could find was in the Pink Press, but it is essentially the same, very funny story about the coppers making the day for this otherwise sedate and normal, FAMILY local.
I’m sure on my second beverage, I’d be family here, too. Absolutely smashing house and as local as I think you could hope to get … do try to find your way out there sometime.
Endless British Pub Crawl (Part 3) 