On a 6 mile run through some previously untraveled roads I encountered the Village Inn at about 30 minutes in (noted because I was listening to the end music of the podcast version of I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue in which the contestants “were given silly things to do by Jack Dee”).
I guess the lounge was empty but the bar was packed. There was probably sport on somewhere on telly but everyone was content, even rapt, with “Family Fortunes” (that’s “Family Feud,” in Ammurrica). Brits will gamble on anything.
The Old Blue Ball reminds me of pubs ten years ago. You walk in and the air is humid from so many people talking so much bollocks and there is the briefest of pauses for the unrecognised face that just came in to be acknowledged as no threat. Awesome.
Of COURSE I had a pint of “What the Fox’s Hat” despite it mangling a perfectly good punchline…it’s “Wear the Fox Hat,” fellas.
A couple of the lads were gambling on the races showing on telly. The kid with one of them came from the lounge/porch/smoking hole and looked at the odds then kept insisting to anyone who’d listen that they should bet on “Running For Freedom” only because it was 33 to 1. “Sounds like it is running to the glue factory, if you ask me,” I answered when he looked my way … a few seconds later (after the shock of my accent passed) I had new friends around the bar, save for one.
Annual £5 donation to the Jockeys’ Benevolent Society was made yesterday. Coko Beach led until the 10th fence then coasted to the final sprint but was still two lengths short at the finish. Poop.
I had to dash home at lunchtime and on the return trip stopped into Pizza Gate to pick up a kebab (not this Pizza Gate, though). It was tasty and the chilli sauce I was given in a small, plastic tub to dip it in was primo. But…
I worked for this guy (Ron) at the Complex Carbohydrate Research Center in Athens, Georgia (nearly twenty years ago) who would always go out to eat at places with poor health inspection reports in the local paper. His theory was that it strengthened his constitution (no one said “microbiome” back then).
Ron didn’t frequently lead me astray but he had his moments. I do hope his food hygiene theory is sound. So far, I’ve been okay.
Well, I have to say that Dubliners by Narroway in Dudley is a lively bar.
Don’t let my photographs fool you…the one outside is the right half of the front, while there were at least 20 people out smoking and vaping under the shelter to the left. It was hard to find a seat at half past one on a Thursday afternoon and there was a festive air in the room. Very much seemed more like a weekend crowd from the early 70s and not a still-midweek lunchtime 50 years later. Mind you, half of the crowd would have been in the bar back in the early 70s, as well, while the other half were probably their grandchildren.
And, there was Bingo. I was nearly done with my beer when the caller started so I waited until someone declared a line to get up to leave so as not to interrupt the proceedings. Absolutely awesome.
Before I continue, this donner and chips portion was surprisingly good. My reaction to it was not at all a surprise.
As I just mentioned in The Court House post, I am still recovering (with the gods’ grace, rest, and more careful choices) from a truly serious bout of food poisoning from which I am 6 pounds lighter than I was on the first day of symptoms (Wednesday). Thursday’s symptoms included a truly frightening fever and explosive, continuous diarrhoea. Friday, the fever was much more manageable and I felt like I could actually travel a couple of hundred metres away from either a toilet or some fresh underwear…and I was suddenly starving.
Still a bit weak and unable to concentrate enough to cook anything more complicated than a mug of bouillon, I thought I should treat my WELCOME microbiome to food it is familiar with to help it fight of the salmonella.
I didn’t want the garlic mayo but the chilli sauce was superb. The meat was nothing special but not too greasy and the chips and salad were decent. For about 15 minutes.
The pitched battle that ensued in my stomach would have been heard by anyone else in the house (in fact, the neighbours and passing pedestrians might have wondered what the strange noises were). I spent 2 of the next 3 hours — in multiple trips — dehydrating myself before regaining autonomy.
Again, nothing to do with Big John’s. Just too soon. I’ll probably have another of these at some point.
Oh, the chilli sauce was a good marker: my retention time for the meal (first in to first out) was 1 hour 40 minutes…my butthole is a fairly sensitive detector at present.
Bought a mitre saw Monday. All fingers are still attached as of this writing and the skirting boards, which went up Monday afternoon, are blood-free and look divine. Don’t worry, there will be other opportunities.
The DoE, a decades-long benefits scrounger, is DOA. I have nothing to add to the 10-hour, all-channels blitz-of-remembrance Friday night (except, perhaps this old, related post detailing a personal encounter with the Prince and his woman).
I’ve done a lot of photoshop things in the past but I did not add “Ferret” to the pump clip between the camera and Philip. Nor did I do anything to the photo, below, as ludicrous as it may seem…$2.70 per US gallon for gasoline? That works out to £0.52 per litre! Crikey, it’s £1.18 up at the corner.
Oh, yeah … Congressdude Matt Gaetz is in the news for something or other which may explain the billboard in that shot.
The Grand National was Saturday and we duly made our donations to the jockey retirement funds. I had Acapella Bourgeois for the name and Jackie took the favourite, Cloth Cap. Mine finished the race, at least, but CC pulled up about 3/4 around. Dog Meat and Hansom Cab would have been better choices, but weren’t on the ticket.
Fines and fees: £52.50 (all fines as the only day the ‘double-dip’ would have been in the mix, I didn’t double-dip). Expect a spike next week.
Have been running a few times this month. Found some software I think I like to keep my cumulative trails on. So, starting with the first weekly of each month, from this point on, there will probably be some increasingly cluttered update screenshots of the runs in one area or another. Here’s one for the Every Road in West Brom effort (vaguely akin to Every Path in Old Town, a few years ago):
A few runs that count, so far, but the software lets me merge gpx files so this should start to colour in soon.
At the end of a week of illness, the election went especially badly for my side as well (the above alternate universe version of things notwithstanding). Friday, I had to sit through a day of tedious lectures (one of which was my own) on analytical facilities at the College of Life and Environmental Sciences. I wasn’t the only one worn down, apparently, as only five of us turned up for the end-of-conference drinks and one of them just packed his beer, unopened, in a satchel and left immediately.
I finished my bottle and, since I hadn’t really been included in the SportExR groups’ conversation, slipped off to change into my running kit and followed the route from last Friday as far as the Lidl down the street from our home. A little later in the evening, this go around, there was marginally less foot traffic to avoid and very few school kids amongst it. Better, but the dark still sucks.
I didn’t wager a lot nor take a lot of chances during the Women’s World Cup. The one bet I’m happiest with, above, was placed early in the knockout round with the Americans beating the Dutchies in the final. This forced me into cheering against my local girls, to my chagrin, and in making the awful Billy Bragg misquote (more than once) about “not looking for a new England, just looking for some other girls.” I … am … so … sorry, Mr Bragg.
It didn’t all go well, as when I voted with my heart (see Italy v Brazil, above) or when I didn’t understand the casino rules (Ned won but not in standard time, so bettors wagering on a draw took all the dosh):
Disenfranchised by the Birmingham Elections officials last Thursday, Jackie and I were left to participate with Ladbrokes. I would’ve voted Lib Dem, personally, but felt confident I could predict Labour, Con, and Brexit Party results. Fortunately (that fortune being £46 including my original £15 stake), I was right. I think I’ve found my gambling niche.
Endless British Pub Crawl (Part 3) 