Some fine pubs were skipped along the way to the Halfway House due in part to age and the Holiday Run Streak taking its toll and in part due to the ever darkening dusk. Night running on uneven and unfamiliar ground sucks but that is the nature of the winter commute run.
The gang at the bar seemed like family and, despite the warm welcome, I felt a bit like an intruder. It is the third closest pub to the house so I see it as a regular stop on the way.
I looked up and spotted the bane of my first week in the new gaff. I spoke briefly with the landlady about it before I left and she seemed to know the folks that did the work, originally. A real local’s local, this.
On my way out, I got a friendly, “later, mate,” from a guy smoking out the front door. Must make a regular appearance, here.
Endless British Pub Crawl (Part 3) 
2 thoughts on “The Halfway House, West Bromwich”
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