Most pubs are quiet on a Sunday night, and out local, the best pub in the world, is no exception. However, that is the night we usually meet our friends the two T’s, Trev and Tim. I’ve known Trevor for many years, many, many years, but only got to know Tim when we moved back to the west country in 2001.
So we sauntered down to the Dolphin at about 9:30, slightly earlier than our usual time; we usually drop down to the pub late on, in time for just a couple of drinks I guess just as my dad used to do. We go early on Tuesdays when its quiz night, and if we go on a Friday or Saturday it’s about 10:30, but Sunday we go earlier. Tonight Tim and Trev didn’t come, but another Tim and his amazing dog Earl were there, and our friend Terry, and Harry behind the bar who is a stout fellow, in the old sense of the word, being a good chap, rather than a large chap.
We sat on our own and talked about may things; Gerry Rafferty and Baker Street, Dave Allen, and from him Ireland an whether it will ever be united, our children, the news, our planned trip to Tasmania… etc.
Sunday night is always quiet in the pub; there were a handful of people in the public bar, us in what we call the cross benches, and later on three people and Earl in the lounge. We were joined in our part by an elderly fellow who sat at the bar on his own with a pint of cloudy cider, Thatcher;s Hazy, I guess. As we were about to leave, we realised that the old chap was asleep at the bar. Harry, our stout barman caught my eye and we had a little chuckle over the sleeping cider drinker.
A typical night on a Sunday in the Dolphin!