the taps rusted over but i'm yet to know if the beer tastes any more bitter than trying it as a child. sat in a dingy leather seat with the ribbons of cowhide at my feet after some animal had its way. where the people perspire through conversations about the weather and the tax man and the never changing politic. staff and regular alike do not remember my mothers name like the stint she pulled was lost to myth, my name meant nothing. maybe that's why i sat in the pub my mother used to work once upon a time, to see if the atmosphere could conjure her like the football brought fleeting happiness five rounds in.