‘Tis the season of unexpected pleasures.
I ran to Wednesbury Christmas morning because it holds the closest Wetherspoon I have not yet logged to this list only to find it closed for the blessed day. Fair enough and I headed back home where an egg nog would salve my bruised soul.
However, as I stopped at the corner to decide whether or not to add a few miles I spied a woman wandering into the William Archer. In the window I saw a guy sipping on a pint. Salvation!
Just inside, a table of about 10 folks greeted me with, “Merry Christmas,” and one bloke announced, “I just saw him running this way, so he must really WANT a drink.” I leaned their way conspiratorially and said, “it’s true.” As I turned to order my breakfast stout I spied the trays of whiskey and several attendees, including the bartender, implored me to help myself. A Christmas miracle!
Sport was on most of the many teles but the one hooked to the tannoy was playing Christmas videos. I may not be back until next year, but I shall return.
The run home was a happy one. I knew that Jackie would be awake and probably in better shape than yesterday and that an egg nog was only a small effort away. Ho ho ho and holly jolly to you all where ever you find yourselves this fine morning.
Endless British Pub Crawl (Part 3) 
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