As I approached, from looking at the pub and the people I was convinced it was going to be a pompous pretentious prick-hole. But once inside it wasn't too bad - perhaps I subconsciously charmed by the air-conditioning. A rare thing in a boozer - and rightly so! But hypocritically appreciated on a day like this!
The barmaid was quietly lovely and as subconsciously charming as the air-con! The Flying Scotsman was nice too. I got my beer and went for a stroll about, upstairs and down. It's a very big pub! I went outside to drink on the pavement, in case the air-con gave me a chill - or even worse I got used to it! I was wondering if the pub was named after the man who surrendered to the Americans or the convict ship. I guess the pub-sign suggests the former, although it's a shame it's a hologram. So far all so good.
Once I'd been outside for a few minutes a young chap came up to me...
"Excuse me, my name is Martin [or something] and I work here..." he said
"Oh sorry" I replied, expecting to have to move back to the designated pavement drinking area, which I did.
"No, no - I work here and a lady has seen you taking photographs and would like to know why"
"Oh - who? The manager?"
"No, just a customer. She wants to know why you were taking photographs."
So some silly old batty paranoid charmless nosey-parker had seen someone taking photographs inside a pub and gone to tell-tales to the staff. You sad old cow.
"It's a lovely pub! Tell her not to flatter herself, I've no idea who it was but I wasn't taking photos of her."
He went back happy enough, but I guess some of the punters of pretty tedious pretentious pricks after all. Well, at least one.
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