I don’t think Paul Tickner ever figured that people went to the Flower Pots for Loopy’s beer rather than for his lacklustre service. As kids we used to pedal up to Cheriton to drink three pints of cider in the pre-renovation saloon bar and then vomit in the hedge, but I wouldn’t vomit there now…
After the Friday night show I was talking to several empresarial gents about taking something along similar lines into districts and villages much further afield. It would be really interesting to weave in local culture, said one, at which point my spirits sank. Literary fakelorism of the silverquick quality of Lorca’s gypsy ballads has always…
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