Day 99 - Gander Gander

Only in the countryside do farmers on their tractors go to the pub on Sunday afternoon for a drink. Can you imagine trying to explain why you are driving your tractor to the pub to an officious London Met Police officer, or better still, if you're in SA, to a SAPS member or RTI. It would require some imaginative thinking, some original excuse making and probably one that the plod would not have heard before.

But this is what happened today. And I have the pictures to prove it. And the young farmer made my even younger offspring's year by allowing him to climb into it. Joy of joys it was for him. What was even more interesting for me? Nobody else batted an eyelid. For the other punters it was just another tractor in the pub car park. Just another thirsty farmer. And I think they thought me a bit odd as I was out there takings pics and being a bit city slicker.

Oh well, I will adapt but have you seen a tractor in your locals car park before?

Does it get better than that?

Wine sales continued unabated last night. Once again nice people having a good time. Tomorrow the dreaded bakkie that's actually a car trip to the wholesaler. Can't wait, love shopping! Until then. God speed.

Day 98 - Sunday Roast

For me its quiet a wierd feeling to again be behind the bar pulling pints. I actually enjoy it, so far anyway, the environment where you can chat to people while you work, test your memory and deal with the odd idiot now an again. And, on top of all this you also get to keep fit as you run up and down to the cellar every five minutes to change barrels! Never a dull moment.

I had forgotten the feeling as it has been a while since those days at the Nightjar and before.

Not being able to feel your feet at the end of the day hasn't been something I've missed to be honest but I suppose a hard days work never killed anyone!

My saga with wine continues. Being the first Friday night of our reopening last night we were obviously busy. And I have never poured or sold so much wine, again. Bear in mind that once upon a time I owned a restaurant called d'Vine Food and Wine so I have sold a bit of wine in my time...but 20 cases in three days, mainly by the glass!!? Another five 12 bottle cases needed to be got this morning. Things have definitely changed here. Real beer and lots of wine is the main difference. Its good. I like it. I wonder if this is normal everywhere? The other interesting thing that was pointed out to me this morning was that the people in here have not been seen in these local pubs for a while. It would be great if they were to be seen from now on though, especially in this pub. As usual I have also been approached already to buy this, sponsor that, even Christmas functions! It's a bit difficult right now to make decision about this stuff and I am trying to hold off until I know the village better and the business is more settled. As always it will be a difficult decision to get involved with some and not others and to get involved in spirit too is also important I think.

The youngest of the offspring attended his first local birthday party today so is sugar rushed to the max and running around like a mad thing. Fortunately his older sister has been wise enough to drag him off to the local park for a bit of a run around. It also means that he will probably climb into bed a little earlier tiday and give here a break. Shame she has been great the past few days with looking after him. She's also been a bit frustrated!

Thats it for today, I wish you could see this place, I think you will be impressed. Until tomorrow. Sunday Roast! This should be interesting.

Day 97 - #1 Friday!

My feet are sore. Sleep finds me without much trouble. But it is getting easier as we are starting to understand the process better and move stock through the tills. Keeping real ale can be an art but one which is easier when there is throughput. And throughput we have indeed. Last night, yesterday was the first official trading day, as you know, was busy, busy. Busier than the night before in fact.  And the night before was a free bar. (Yes free. Not my favourite word especially if its me giving it away but something we had to do.)

But a bit more rewarding because this time the till draw kept opening and there was paper stuff going in it. And at the end of the night there was actually some cash in it.

Today is Friday, the start of our first weekend and if the pub across the road has been anything to go over the past few weeks it should be reasonably busy. One thing that has surprised us in the first two days is the amount of wine we are selling. My first order was 10 cases (12 bottle cases) of assorted wines,  yesterday afternoon I went to fetch another 2cases and this morning we needed again so I picked up another 5 cases - and this is not sitting on a shelf somewhere - this is all to replenish fridge and display space. Curious to know what % wine sales will be in the mix. Back in the day if it was 1% you would have been considered a wine bar. That's how the market has changed I guess. And lots of food today which has stressed my significant other half out a bit as the kitchen is not right yet. But once again. There is only one chance at opening so you have to do it.

This is this village. I have now in the past few days been offered by two different people at no cost, original Joules Brewery / Royal Oak printed material going back to the 1800's. There is so much passion locally for this pub and this beer that I think it will stand us in good stead. People are impressed by just how much attention to detail and care has gone into the refurbishment. As I wrote earlier, just about everyone has a memory of this place. They are generally, as I've picked up, very anti big pub companies that destroy pubs. That destroy their history. It is refreshing to see real people who actually give a shit. People who don't want everything to be developed, people who don't want more houses, more estates where everything looks the same, more malls. Fantastic. I am loving it.

Until Tomorrow. Bring it on!

Day 96 - Picture this!

We have officially traded our first full day. No advertising other than A boards outside, no flyers, no press. Is this the way forward in this small town. Who knows. Right now, its new, its fresh and it seems to fill a need here in this village. Everyone I have spoken to so far has a story to tell about something they have done here at the Royal Oak.

From a function they have attended, to people they or a relative of theirs have met here, for each it seems there is different purpose to be here. So far so good. Our first official trading day was cracking. Long may it last!

Some photos below.

Until tomorrow. The weekend!

Day 95 - D Day

One hour to go.
Shattered would be the right turn of phrase right now. Tar done, menu's and business cards done, staff have arrived, umbrellas are up, beer is cold, platters are ready. We leave it now in hope that the night is a success.

Short and sweet. Too much going on. Until tomorrow definitely. Look forward to telling you more then.

Day 94 - T minus 1

And the award for "Lets wrap this fucker up so tight they'll never get it open" goes to - the audience goes silent for this Be Proud, Have an Enormous Global Carbon Footprint Annual awards, the Master of Ceremonies clears his throat, a single spotlight lights up the podium - goes to...the makers and wrappers of the new Grolsch umbrellas (that we just received)! Ta da! I can hear the maybe confused applause from where I sit. 

Last night we were in the final throes of unpacking stuff, and pretty much the last stuff were the umbrellas - which we are grateful for as we did get them for free- the cardboard packaging was about 2 meters tall double skinned export quality fluted cardboard, stapled together and stuck with copious amounts of packing tape. Like Christmas, we tore it open, expecting to see the all familiar logo of this popular - here anyway - product. But alas no. Inside this packaging was yet more cardboard, double skinned and fluted again with even more staples and packaging tape. So, like Christmas we tore at it again. Only this time the familiar green of the umbrellas shone like a beacon, from inside a sealed thick plastic bag. I think this might be a case of overkill. The umbrellas will now stand in the beer garden for eternity. They will not fade in the sun because there is no sun. They will stand in the rain and probably the snow until they rot and go back to the earth. Ok Ok a bit melodramatic here I know - when they look a bit tatty I'll ask for some more and these will go in the bin! Dust to dust they say. My ass.

Next time Philemon tells you he is tired you should believe him because take it from me he probably is. I have worked like him, I may even smell a bit but at least I go to bed knowing that tomorrow many people will be enjoying the pleasures of my Fanta Brown (thanks Bev!) and hopefully they will part willingly with their salary and maybe even their dole cheque. And hopefully they will come back the next day, and the next day. But of that I shall tell you more in due course...

Today was spent on a training course. All day in fact. But it was interesting and I did learn that watching paint dry could possibly, and probably, be more exciting. I also learnt that I am maybe a little different from other people in this trade. And on my return to the pub I duly discovered that people, the workers, here are no different to what I am accustomed to. That certain grades of jobs I think are naturally whiney. Like the cleaning role for example. That started today. I don't have the patience to babysit adults so my new motto is FIFO. Know what they mean? And finally, I also discovered on my return that the tarmac people had been and hopefully have not finished...because if they have I am part gravel, part tar and I am below the man hole cover. Tomorrow we shall find out.

Until tomorrow. D - Day. Lets do this thing!

Day 93 - T minus 2

Another day has seen the end. Although the sun is still out as I write this, we have just returned from yet another and this time I hope the final shopping expedition. This was part two of the get everything and try and not forget anything otherwise you'll look a complete idiot on opening day shop. What a joy it was.

Once again accompanied by the loin fruit, only today one was less than enthusiastic about being there. That would be a polite way of saying he was quite the little shit actually. But it is over now. 

Tomorrow, I shall be on a training course the whole day, yes I know the timing is not exactly great but its one of those things, its a free course, it is certificated and although I have done it a life time ago it will be a good refresher for things to come.

Also today, about an hour ago, I tapped my first barrel in about 14 years. And as the bishop said to the actress, it went straight in! Things have modernised a bit since last I worked the cellar but since its all new to me I have gone back to the good old fashioned way of keeping beer. On Wednesday at about 5.30, we shall know if things have changed that much. I suspect they haven't.

My thoughts have been with those people in Norway, who must be suffering enormous national grief. Can you imagine if this happened at the holiday camp that your kid was at? Can you even imagine it happening in your hometown, or even country. The sense of grief must be palpable. That this killer was able to for what is reported as nearly two hours, kill indiscriminately. For two hours. Where were the heroes, where were the security. How did he get the guns and that much ammunition? Where was national intelligence. And all this in the name of anti Muslim ism! Are we really getting anywhere? Are the steps that will now be taken really going to make us even safer? You just know that this one persons action is going to be a pain in the ass for years to come. And then we'll get complacent and it will happen again. Fucked up world.

Final stages this side. The tarmac people that were supposed to start laying today didn't turn up. Tomorrow I'm told. The now almost clean interior of the pub is once again getting dirtier with drilling still going on. But it will be a great pub. You be the judge when you see the pics later this week.

Gotta go. Until tomorrow. Have a fab evening!

Day 92 - T minus 3

Dear Sir

You are cordially invited, along with your partner, to attend the opening of the grand old dame of the village, The Royal Oak Public House. 

The occasion is to celebrate a new, albeit somewhat minuscule, chapter in its life and we hope that you will accord it the honour of your attendance.

We look forward to seeing you blah blah blah

That is what I should have wrote I think. Instead it was rushed as the time draws near and I hope that I conveyed my message to the local people who have been invited. How do you encapsulate and do justice to nearly 600 years of known history into an invitation to the reopening? I don't know the answer but let me try and put this into perspective. Before Vasco de Gama sailed around the Cape and landed in I think 1492, people were staying, eating and drinking on this site. It is written into the history books that in 1459, Queen Margaret, wife to King Henry VI. visited this inn to encourage support before the battle of Blore Heath during the War of the Roses. I think its incredible that people went about life here, and recorded it in a fashion during the middle ages when the rest of the world was yet to be discovered. If the walls could talk, you would wonder what other stories they could tell. 

Anyway, on a lighter less philosophical note, today was an expensive day as it was shopping day. No, not normal food shopping type of day...this was the buy all the stock you can afford so you don't have to run around on opening day and look like a fool and be embarrassed when you find you don't have everything sort of shopping. With two kids it was envisioned that it was going to be even more that the usual nightmare. But today the children God was smiling on us because our offspring were remarkably well behaved. Fortunately the wholesaler was pretty much deserted so there were no crowds to deal with and we wondered around dragging four industrial size trolleys that really the manufacturer should only put three wheels on, because the fourth wheel never works. And then we tried to stuff the whole lot into the back of the car, by the feet of the offspring and on their laps. But we got it in. Hilux bakkies couldn't carry as much stuff as we carried today. Taxi's travelling to the Transkei before Christmas would have been in awe of our overloading today. Had we been stopped news and pictures of this would have gone onto You Tube. Millions of people around the world would have tisked tisked over their tea as the inadvertently found pictures of this overloading amongst their porn.

But yet we made it home and filled a commercial kitchen up with stuff so that hopefully we shall be able to sell it and make some money. For those of you reading this who work or have worked in commercial kitchen you will probably appreciate just how many little things there are in a kitchen. Not only is there a shake shake there is also three or four tubs of spices in a store somewhere that need to be kept so that the shake shake shakes!

And if you haven't worked in a kitchen before, then all you have to think about is what the plate of food looks like when it eventually hits your table, bought to you by the ever smiling always whining waiter.

Anyway, only a few more sleeps. Talk soon. Will post some photos of the pub this week.

Until tomorrow.

Day 91 - T minus 4

Braaing in the rain is an experience not to be easily forgotten. It was a bit unseasonably cold for mid July but also am starting to believe that its not really going to ever be hot here so a warm drizzle while braaing was fine. These Zimbos that we braaied with last night are good people it seems and determined to hang onto their traditions. I respect people like that, they escaped Zim, with not much, at its worst time - 3 years ago - arrived with almost nothing but are establishing themselves bit by bit.

Also met a bunch of people as different from each other as I think possible. One, a local farmer and his wife and kids, farming on land that has been in the family for generations, beef and potatoes I think - all sold to McDonald's he tells us. A bit quirky and quintessentially English but a good bloke, another a tattooed covered truck driver who looks as hard as nails, also with his wife. What a genuinely nice guy, There may well be a back story there but he chooses to be part of the countryside and is very into Falconry - having his own red tail American buzzard (I might be wrong about the name of this bird thing but I think that's what he said) that he uses to hunt for rabbit and hares and when its finished it comes back to sit on his arm, with its meter and a bit wingspan. Can't wait to see it!

Then the lecturer couple who live behind the pub across the road from me, who have to fold their car's wing mirrors in to get through the arch to their house - the arch was originally built for carriages you see. They look a bit studenty and all new world but also good people wanting the best for their kids and future I suppose.

And Rory the Zambian (who years ago won a green card in a US green card lottery) who went o school in Pietermaritzburg and who works on 200 ton luxury yacht in the Caribbean but is now in the UK as he injured his back and is waiting for an a NHS op.

And I did this without even a drop of the golden liquid touching my lips. I managed to hold intelligent and sparkling conversation with strangers in a stone cold sober state. It was tough but I handled the copious stress way better than I handled the booze of the night before. I must truly be getting old or at least soft in my old age!! I really couldn't do it again. Honest.

T minus 4. Staff training today. Think we may be a bit different to this lot over here, certainly more madder than they are but that could just be because we have spent 20 odd years selling beer and burgers. I suspect that the entire village will know this afternoon everything about us too. And what they don't know they will make up anyway.  Our staff seem a decent bunch, hopefully they turn up!

Car park is level, the crusher is down and been compressed. The tar people come on Monday to make a noise and put the black stuff down. And then its done and we shall be ready to open. Can't wait now!

Until tomorrow, have a fab day!

Day 90 - T minus 5

Today has been long. I can't believe that yet another week has gone so quickly. Like I've said before I honestly almost believe that the people who actually run this plant have been leading us down the path when it come to the recording of time. I mean last Friday feels like yesterday.

Anyway. T minus 5. I have today applied with some considerable lack of skill all my tradesman / DIY skills that I have gathered over the years. I am also fairly certain that I would not pass a trade test. Of any description and of any profession. Fortunately I do know which is the business end of a drill and even a screw driver, hell even working a spirit level is becoming second nature to me. I'm not really that bad and what I lack in skill I make up with enthusiasm, passion and of course commitment... and occasionally a cheque if I really screw it up. But I love going to hardware stores and checking what is new out there. For instance, my next purchase, and I have investigated this, will be a 18v De Walt cordless drill screwdriver thingy. It definitely takes the pain out of screwing stuff and it can even make a hole or two. I have looked at other makes, at the 12v and 14v versions but the 18v one is really manly. I will have arrived should I decide to part with some cash to buy this thing. And it will look nice next to my new drill too. Ok I know, this is very sad, but, since my significantly more sensible and mature other half is not interested in having this conversation with me or even looking at them for Gods sake, and I only talk to myself when I'm driving, I will have it with you. And I would like a response, preferably a sensible you are the man type of response. That would be nice.

On the subject of cars I was fortunate or could you even say lucky to get a parking ticket today, right outside the pub too. So here is the theory, the parking ticket guy would look at my car and being in the first world they all carry handheld registration check devices, he would enter my reg number, my address would show, he would lift his head and say, oh, that's right here because he would be standing right outside the pub. Than he would look at the now completely dug up car park and all the contractors vans blocking everything and think to himself, lets give this bloke a gap 'cos I can see its only temporary and he lives here and can't even park on his own property. And then he would wonder off down the road and ticket someone else.

Or, he would do what he actually did. And write the ticket. So I've left the ticket on the car  - I don't even know how much it is - because my theory is that he won't now write another one if he sees that one. What you think?

I'm quite proud of twelve year old who thinks she's eighteen. She has made her own mind up about a couple of girls she's met. At first they were the quickest best friends in history, and quicker even to give us a mouthful when we said, ah no you can't wander the streets with them after dinner. She's now worked out that perhaps she doesn't actually want to be like them after all. Brownie point for her. Less worry for us.

Next week we start making some money I hope. Until tomorrow. Have a fab Friday.

Day 89 - T minus 6

Almost there now. Hanging like Spiderman on a half thrown web today. What started out as an innocent wine tasting yesterday for the new pub turned into a mammoth session that lasted well into the night. Why do I do it.

I'm not a great wine fan, I'll drink it for the effect sure, only because it gives me a raging headache and severe heartburn. The headache I have, rather had - it is now subsiding thanks to the modern marvels of drugs - by strangely heartburn has not happened yet.

It felt like such a good idea last night. My effervescent all handsome life and soul of the party talk to me because I'm so interesting persona crept out again. The bastard! Thought I had locked him away. Obviously not. God I'm hanging. There must be a cure for it? Half of me wants to go to an AA meeting, the other half can't be bothered! I feel terrible. Do you have these guilty pangs when you give it a go?

My significantly better and more sober half has no emotion for me this morning. And she is right. Oh well. This will be a long day. The saving grace last night? No phone signal otherwise all on fb would have had an ongoing progress report. That would have been a blessing!

One day closer. More stuff done now,starting to look like a business as more stuff arrives. I am greeted by very approving local people everywhere i go. I claim no glory for the fit out. It has been done with taste and style. It has been done with original materials stripped from some of the many old pubs which have closed. It has alleviated fears locally that this building, like the once pub next door,would have been converted into offices or the like. It has renewed faith in the local industry. 

And I will attempt to run it with aplomb. Hopefully sans hangover!

Why do I do it?

Until later...this is the catch up for yesterday, today's hopefully longer and more readable blabber will follow... I say hopefully because it may not happen as we have been invited to a - wait for it - braai (!!) tonight by a recently met couple. Braai? Yes, she is Zimbabwean and white so she can't be all bad?

Day 88 - T minus 7

Dog tired I am. Like I wrote yesterday this whole manual labour thing is not really for me but hey, what needs to be done needs to be done. Period!

And there is a lot that needs to be done and cleaned and packed and sorted out.

Today is T minus 7. This time next Wednesday, and forever after (we can hope and dream) we shall have the busiest pub for miles around. It will be full of people that want to be here. Nice people, educated hopefully with manners and sophistication and who hopefully that will appreciate a good thing. At the very lease we hope they will be discerning, I can handle a discerning pisshead, I actually like discerning drunks, but please don't give me a pisshead who doesn't appreciate a good thing. Is there anything worse?

That will appreciate good beer, and before you ask it is not beer that is served at room temperature, although it is quite close at 10 degrees!

After all this pub is what is called a 'brewery tap' i.e. a direct outlet for the brewery, which it is.

Or that's the theory anyway. And the story that I will stick to.

I think setting up any business from scratch is a challenge and having done this a few times in the past I can be relied upon to confirm this urban myth. It gets worse when there are elements outside of your control. Which is the case in just about every new build or renovation. Part of this renovation involves reinstating original stained glass windows to the front elevation of the building. Not the fake stick lead to a pane of glass stuff, the real deal, handcrafted, as it was originally. So you would think its a no brainer. Yes? You would thing that conservation type people would welcome this. Yes? You would think that it would be entirely fitting for this style of renovation. Yes?

Well NO actually. The councils conservation people have decided, because they are wise and worldly that the original fake leaded / stained glass should be replaced. A great decision now that £10k has been spent - not by me it must be said, just in case any of my creditors are reading this - by the owner of the building who has decided, drum roll please, to install the windows anyway.

Oh this shall be a ride indeed. Tomorrow we shall pack even more stuff away. We shall hope, no make that pray, that the external works carry on (more stuff without planning permission, oops!) and finish by the weekend. We shall work and sweat for a few more days and then, another drum roll, we shall hope that money starts flowing in an inwards direction. Wouldn't that be marvellous!

Anyway, enough from me. Bed Time. Until tomorrow.

Day 87 - Bring Beer!

Tomorrow I shall be a year older. I have spent a lifetime doing two things, notably; one, I have always answered the question correctly, the one about when did the first moon landing take place? I know this answer because I was born on this day 42 years ago and two, I have spent my life spelling my name to people and I am yet to meet anyone of the same name who spells theirs like I spell mine! So, to my parents, I know you probably thought this a fabulous idea at the time but take it from me, it wasn't. In fact I no longer correct people who spell my name incorrectly. I'm sure that e mails destined for me bounce back, that prizes for people whose names start with Nei I have missed out on. But I have been different at least, and I'm saying that 'cos I know that that will be an excuse or a reason.

As time marches on and we get closer to opening date it has today dawned on me that there is not a lot of unskilled labour around these parts. Or not of the blackomatic sort that will work for not much. In the recent mornings I have woken with a sore body as, in the past few days, if there has been something to do, something to scrub, something to move, something to lift it has been me. Yes, I am now a fully qualified labourer. I have carried fridges, grills, equipment. I have swept and mopped floors. I have cleaned out the cellar - this included sticking my hand into a disgusting soak pit to clear out some gunge. Oh the joys. I am multi talented indeed.

People I know will chuckle and probably comment about it being good for me to actually do some work for a change. And they would be right. I have not worked physically, certainly not like this anyway, for a while now. I have adopted the view that I am actually allergic to manual labour, it is something you do only if no else will do it or you can't afford to pay someone else to do it.. Who knows I might actually lose some weight! Now that would be a result and one worth the pain, because paying a labourer the equivalent of R70 an hour would break my heart.

I have also not braaied for a month now. I have not stood by a fire with a mate for this same time. I have drunk not much beer - unfortunately - but on the up side I did hear a while ago that it takes 6 weeks for the liver to rejuvenate. Whoopa  - almost time for a binge then! All new and shiny I will be. And, like I said, we are getting closer to opening date and this means that beer gets delivered soon...um...tomorrow! No Mom, I'm not being serious! I am after all the good example of a middle aged man. Aren't I? I know a few people who might disagree with that but hey, I can tell a few stories to. And I have also not suntanned - does that count? Do you now have images of me lying in my mankini on white sands, all buttered up in bronzing lotion? If you do, you should see someone!

Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday to me. Until tomorrow. Have a fab day!

Day 86 - Peep Show

Facebook is what it is. You can choose to read it all and believe it all or you can cherry pick the moments that might make a difference to you. Its a bit like voyeurism and I'm sure there are stacks of people out there who use it for exactly that purpose. There are also stacks of people, it seems, that will believe anything that someone / something puts up as a status.

As someone I know wrote today, and I quote "YOU CAN'T see the hot girl stripping nor did she leave her webcam on, YOU CAN'T find out who looked at your profile, YOU WILL NOT know what that man saw when he walked in on his daughter, YOU WILL NOT see pics of Osama Bin Laden's dead body, there are NO free iPads, you will NEVER know why that baby is laughing. FACEBOOK will always be free - STOP CLICKING THESE LINKS & EXPOSING ME TO THESE VIRUSES - seriously!!!!! "  This pretty much sums up the crap that we put up with. But is it all worth it?

Being a bit BC I can tell you that back in the day, and not that long ago, if you wanted to stay in touch you either wrote a letter and actually posted it or you called someone on the phone. If you were travelling you used the Poste Restante system at the main post office. There were times as a backpacker when months went by before you could find a phone to phone reverse charges to the parents.In the army, the rare calls had to be booked, and ideally when you were on ops room duty - which came round every 6 weeks or so.

So, the world has moved on. now days we take it all for granted and get frustrated when its not easy. Facebook for all its leanings towards voyeurism fills a gap that hadn't been filled previously. And lets admit it, it does it bloody well if you do it right. I don't think ever before have we been so easily able to catch up with people that we grew up with. We have not been able to share real time pictures with our dearly beloved so quickly and so cleanly. We have not before been able to share our emotions online quite like we can now.
There are those however who go over the top and report to their never ending growing list of 'friends' every movement of their bowels at all times of the day. We have seen more pictures of their friends and family, especially babies, than we would like, we have seen their car, their workplace, their partner, their drunken moments of joy, their check ins at the Wimpy. They have overshared. And we have encouraged it by reacting to their drivel. We have applauded their ability to copy clever sayings from the bottom of the diary page, we have commented on good they look. We are their friends after all. And we worry when they don't reciprocate to our postings.

So have I answered the question. Is it all good? Well yes it is and I think everyone should be mandated to be of facebook, but perhaps the training in the settings should be a course that people are forced to go onto. There should also be a list of criteria to sign up a 'friend'.
a/ do you actually know that person
b/ do you know where they live
c/ have you shared something with them
d/ have you been drunk with them before
e/ would you donate a kidney to them if they needed it
f/ would you pee on them if they were on fire

And then there is skype. Now here is a clever thing that I have recently discovered for myself. Free, so that's a good starting point, and easy to use, even for someone like me. The world, so far away in SA can only get better. Everyone should have it. How long before the proverbial peep show goes digital? I wait with bated breath.

Until tomorrow.

Day 85 - The Temple

There is no doubt that elements of the British media are being led like lambs to the slaughter at the moment. There is a certain delicious irony too in this saga that is playing out right now. Normally it would be these self same newspapers and journalists that so enjoy pouring misery on others in the name of selling copies. The hunters are now the hunted and it takes little imagination now to picture the glee in the other publications. As one journo put it, in a poorly written piece in the Times yesterday, 'forgive us for our smugness but it was never going to last', and she was right, albeit, probably never thought it at the time.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about, just watch Sky News. They have built a facade of respectibility but in essence they are the digital version of the Sun, and The News of the World. If you look closely you will see that the width of their content is painfully introspective. Their glee at others misfortune bubbles just below the surface, their direness in reporting on the financial meltdown helped in its downward spiral. But did it really happen? Yesterday two things did happen. Firstly I spoke with a man, who I know, who celebrates next month his fiftieth year trading on the London Stock Exchange. And I don't mean buying an occassional share here and there. I mean being a stockbroker to the wealthy. For fifty years! He is of the view that what happened was exaccerbated by the mass media, by ignorance and by knee jerk reactions by some players, especially banks. There is no doubt that a period of correction was inevitable, there is no doubt that people, me included, had way too much access to too much credit. There is no doubt that we, this generation, have created a level of consumerism never seen before. There is no doubt that our society values and morals are skewed.

On saturday evening, we, the missus and I and some horribly aged children went to the temple. The temple of consumerism, also known as Westfield mall, which is in Sheperds Bush, west London. As malls go, this is very impressive to say the least. I have written about this place before but last night was interesting. There was no recession here. There was also no English spoken, let me tell you, but people in all shapes and sizes filled every restaurant - there were queues outside of some, filled every waiting area and every car park space. Some clothing shops had queues to get in, all were stocked to overflowing. There does not appear to be a shortage of money. Not one bit.

An interesting experience, made even better by our fortunate witnessing of the popcorn police in action. Never a dull moment.

Until tomorrow.

Day 84 - Mike Bravo

If it hadn’t been for Joe ‘Chunky Charlie’ Bloggs last night we would not have been privileged to witness an astounding and quite frankly an awe inspiring performance and application of law and order performed by the popcorn police.

Our eldest, at the very horrible age of thinking she is eighteen but is only twelve, and her equally horribly aged cousin who thinks he a London gangsta went, last night, driven by us, to the movies. Whilst queuing somewhat patiently for popcorn and a coke (let me add here…£7.50 for a medium package deal of these treats!) ‘ol Chunky Charlie, wandering by behind the queue let slip his large Coke onto the floor. Looking savagely nonchalant about this ecological mishap ‘ol Chunky, stepped over his now carbon footprint and blissfully unaware of what was coming disappeared into the crowd. As this happened only a meter or two in front of me I stood and watched the bedlam that ensued as up to 6 staff members, mouths glued to their two way radio’s scrambled the defences of the Vue.

First in was someone who looked like he was in charge. He may not have been but certainly these well trained people and super conscious champions of health and safety have a policy of who is first on the scene controls the scene. Barking instructions into his comms about the major spillage in the foyer – I kid you not - others came running, the first arriving with what appeared to be an overgrown roll of toilet paper and an industrial type long handled dustpan and brush. Seeing the scale of the disaster he quickly dropped his evidently useless equipment and quickly found a high visibility A shaped warning sign lest a member of the public wet their feet. This was only the first of a number of A shaped warning signs to appear. In the meantime, the leader was rolling out the toilet paper by the meter, hoping it would absorb the calamity of the spill. Team member three arrived on the scene, him too with a dustpan and brush, his thousand yard show me the popcorn stare piercing the gloom of the foyer. Seeing that he was ill equipped he too found a High Vis warning sign before calling for a Mike Bravo – this must mean mop bucket because it was only a minute or two before one of these, high visibility and yellow of course,  arrived, and a semblance of order started to resume. The tide had turned on the disaster and the perseverance of this dedicated team was starting to reap results. Team members, including the Queue supervisor – he was the one with the high visibility armband that said ‘Queue’ on it had smoothly and it appears effortlessly managed people away so as preserve the integrity of the scene and not to disturb men at work.

A job well done as yet another pressured employee arrived. The adrenalin was subsiding as the tired laughter dwindled away. People would receive commendations for this beyond the call of duty action. In an A4 poster frame, deep in the bowels of the Westfield mall would appear a picture of The Employee of the Month, all bets on the leader who successfully led his team to success against all odds.

The horrible ones had disappeared into a cinema. What the missus and I had been privileged enough to witness was better than any movie could hope to be.

More Westfield excitement to come. Until tomorrow.

Day 83 - Suntanning

There is an opinion I think manifested by the anti-colonial sect in countries that have most benefitted from colonialism that the English countryside is blighted by smoke spewing industry, council housing estates, gangs of hoodies marauding over the farmlands and country lanes filled with eighteen wheelers.

With still my holiday goggles on maybe, I can tell you with some certainty that in this part of the world that I now inhabit that is not the case. There are few places that I have seen on my (quite extensive) travels that offer a more picturesque environment. There are few places where the lanes are as wide as the car you are in but there is not a pot hole or scraping branch in sight. There are few places where homes are in buildings that are hundreds of years old, homes that pre date the roads, and today their stone walls are bombarded with ivy and hanging baskets. Where there is acre upon acre of different coloured farmland where the fence is rickety and only a meter high. Where at the end of a driveway so impossibly long, sits a pile worth more than a small country. 

Unless of course you take the road to Barmouth on the coast line of north Wales, as we did on Sunday. The difference in landscape from the plains of this part of the country to the almost Alp like conditions of Snowdonia cannot be fully described. From reasonable main roads to narrow hair pin bends, through tiny hamlets with steep roofed houses and what would be snow covered hillsides in winter, over bridges that crisscrossed over many rivers, this was country side that was so green as to be impossible. A leisurely Sunday drive turned into a 400km round trip marathon; but to see Fairbourne, with its narrow gauge steam railway that chugged through the town and Barmouth, with its houses made of slate stone cannibalised from and cut into the side of a slate mountain. Where homeowners would have to carry their shopping and furniture up the narrow paths to their homes. Where you can imagine in the past, women staring out of their windows, out to sea, high up on the ‘mountain’ waiting for the fishing boats to come back in. Hoping that their man would be coming home. Hoping that the bitterness of the north Atlantic in winter hadn’t claimed another soul.

Where in the summer months today, not that it gets too hot too often; this small village becomes a resort for tourists, campers and hikers from all countries. Where the bars, restaurants and the pavements are full of happy people, where the beach is a sea of colour with all the kiters. 

Nevertheless, it was a long way to go to the beach! It seemed longer coming home to be honest; it always does with two tired and getting whiny kids in the back. But at least we have been there and I would recommend the drive, not for the destination necessarily – even though it is picturesque - but for the journey itself. Welcome to Wales.

Until tomorrow. Hope you like the pictures.

There are few places in this world where the lifestyle of many, rich and poor, are determined by the steepness of the tradition of their predecessors.

This is the land where, today the hunt gathers in the winter months to chase the fox – although not to kill it anymore because that would be illegal - and hundreds of years ago, the Kings men rode their steeds in pursuit of his orders. Where the evidence today is the ancient oil paintings depicting the scene and the dotted ruins of castles built on outcrops of rock. Where centuries old pubs, found in the oddest of corners each tell their own story. Arguably there is no prettier place than this part of the English countryside.

Day 82 - Child Freedom

And still I wait with somewhat bated breath for BT to enter into my life and install a phone line in my abode. It has been some time now as you are aware. I am trying to remain positive but I won’t lie I do get irritated when they send me e mails, I think telling themselves that they’re doing a great job, informing me of the install date. If they perhaps spent as much time installing stuff as they do on pointless e mails then I think the bloody line would have been in by now.

Anyway that’s my gripe for now. Today I have the oldest of my offspring in a fine mood, whining about everything and particularly about her lack of freedom. A strong sense of déjà vu prevails within me as I remember saying these exact words to my parents back then. Freedom she says. Just how much freedom should an eleven year old get? Not much would be my view but then I admit to being a bit old fashioned now and again. How much freedom should she have when we live in a brand new town which she or we barely knows? Just like my parents do I will throw this in her face when she has children of her own one day. Lovable little shit she can be at times!

From entertaining the Parish Council last night I later morphed into the tooth fairy as the youngest lost his second front tooth. Like a coloured from the flats or Wentworth he is today. I almost forgot to be honest (to be the toothfairy), which would have been cataclysmically catastrophic this morning because he wouldn’t have understood that the tooth fairy hadn’t delivered as usual. He was a bit surprised though that the fairy had found him all the way over here in the UK! Anyway, all and sundry at soccer training were enthralled by his news of the windfall he had discovered beneath his pillow this morning. Except I think the coach who was trying to, well, coach them.

Tomorrow (Sunday) we shall wander across the dales to the welsh coast, I don't expect that we will get a sun tan while we are there but I haven’t been there and it doesn’t look too far on the map. I know, famous last words but anyway we shall give it a try.

I am still using the library to write this stuff and since they will be closed tomorrow, this blog, for tomorrow has been pre written and scheduled to publish itself – clever stuff this blogspot thingy!

Until then and until tomorrow. Be safe

Day 82 - I Don't Remember

I am loathe to blabber on about good service in case I am made to eat my words later. But I have to tell you this story because it was so completely unexpected. As you know we are in the process of setting up a business. Part of that process is to find suppliers, obviously, and so off to Stoke we went a couple days ago to a wholesaler called Bookers.

A trade wholesaler is just another wholesaler in my mind. You need to be registered to be able shop there i.e. you need a card and it’s a warehouse filled with racking and products in bulk, there’s a bunch of trolleys (once again I was attracted to probably the only trolley that had artificial intelligence and wanted to go its own way the whole bloody time!) and its self-service. You know what I’m talking about, a Makro / Trade Centre type place. Understandably, I’m sure you’ll agree, my service expectations were quite low. We were about to become new customers, we had the required documentation with us and we arrived at the door. Wooosh, a bit star trekky, it opened. And there stood John, the catering development manager who had no idea we were coming but made us feel like he was welcoming us into his mom’s home.

He filled the forms in for us, explained every step of what would now happen and then gave a guided tour of the key areas, giving us samples of stuff to take home and try, discount vouchers, catalogues etc. And then he left us to browse. And in that browsing time he checked on us three times to make sure we had found everything and to answer any questions. So why is this remarkable? For me – and you will have your own view I’m sure – this is what service is all about. Yes, between the lines he was selling to us, not a product but the whole of Booker. How many times have we made decisions not to go back to a certain shop or restaurant because of the experience we have had with one individual? This time we will go back willingly because we met him. We will tell the world because we met him. The cost of his training will be covered by the money we spend with that organisation. And we are only one small business.

So why are they the preferred wholesaler to the trade? Why do they have 180 stores and growing when others are falling over? The stuff they sell you can get from a multitude of other retailers, some items will be cheaper, some more expensive. Here’s my view. I think that companies like Booker have realised that to have competitive edge in a fairly gloomy trading environment they need to train their staff to sell the whole experience without hard selling anything. Simplistic I know but think about it. I want to and I’m sure you want to, support companies that I think like me, that I think will give me a bit extra, that I think will help me if I need help. I’m not naïve enough to think that they really will but make me feel good about being there and you’ve got me. Make me feel like a number, and I’ll go elsewhere. I think this is what has happened over the past few years. The sharp companies have realised they need to be different in an era of a tough market.

Has it always been like this? I don’t remember these thoughts even entering my head when we used to live here all those years ago. I don’t recall been blown away repeatedly by good service, like we have been recently. There might well be a lesson here for aspiring retailers in SA where, let’s face it, the service levels often leave a bit to be desired. Is this the way it’s done now? I hope so.

Village life is a bit different. Last night as part of the PR of this ancient pub, we invited the Parish Council round to come and see the works done. Nice villagy type people they were, they liked what has been done so far I think but I couldn’t help wondering about their place in the bigger scheme of things, this in the fast paced life of the 21^st century. I guess I’ll understand this a bit better in the time to come.

Until tomorrow.

Day 81 - Time It Is

I wonder if there is any scientific foundation to the fact that we all know; time definitely goes much faster when you’re older.

I remember as a kid that the summer holidays were impossibly long and lazy. We would spend, it seemed weeks and months on the beach doing not much, school was a distant memory and school starting again for the New Year was still so far away. Each day was longer than the previous…

Alas it has all changed. Days are not actually 24 hours anymore. The earth has sped up on its axis and they won’t tell us officially. There has been a collusion of governments and really clever people to make us think that they days are still 24 hours, but they’re not. We all know they’re not. They can’t be. Each day fly’s by in a blur of speed, us (or is it just me?) barely able to complete the days task before the sun sets. Before you know the week has gone and it’s the weekend already and only two days till the sun shines again (why is that? The sun always seems to shine on a Monday?)

It is also proven scientifically that the length of the day is directly proportional to the amount of fun you’re having and directly proportional to the pressure you’re under to complete a task. So for example, if you’re at the dam skiing with your mates the day will fly by and before you know it the day will be over and you’re packing to go home. Conversely if you’re studying for an exam the day will drag by, lunch will only be tomorrow, dinner and TV maybe only next week. And if you’re setting up a new business with a million things to do, there isn’t enough time. Period.

And so this is my life again. Setting up a business successfully takes vast patience and a circus like ability to juggle a whole bunch of things simultaneously. In the final days it requires an inordinate amount of belief in the vision that was originally set out because until the last pile of dirt is swept up it doesn’t look like it will ever finish. And there is always someone drilling into something and making a mess of new cleaned surfaces. Bastards they are I tell you. But these same drillers and wreckers of clean things themselves possess skills that I don’t so it is difficult for me to hurry them along. If they are working fast or if they are working slow it all looks the same pace to me; what does happen though with alarming repetitiveness is that the day runs out far too quickly and the really skilled people go home. Leaving me to admire their handiwork in the gloom of dusk. Wondering if tomorrow they will show progress, wondering if tomorrow they will finish one area to move to another of the project. And each day it is the same, and each day it seems that they will work and create mess in all corners of the building.

We are now only a few weeks away from opening our doors again. It is now the time to put menu’s together that reflect Englishness, to choose spirits and wine that take nothing away from the traditional ale drinking habits of this region, to incorporate the daily doings into the community at large. And still, even with these good things the day still ends prematurely.

We are long down the list in this buildings history of people using it to make a living. In the more recent past Geoff Hurst of World Cup ’66 fame (he was the guy who netted the hat trick in England’s only world cup football victory) used to own it, as did a bloke, Colin, and his wife for twenty odd years. From him a large pub company, the type of which I gave my views on recently, bought it and in a short space of years destroyed it.

In the ancient past, the building had an overnight cell in its attic where murderers and vagabonds were kept overnight on the carriage journey to London. In its cellar, a tunnel (now bricked up) used in Cromwellian times existed for safe passage to the church building. As I’ve said before parts of the building date to the 16^th century and locally it appears that the pub has been the heart of the village for generations. We hope to restore this faith that so many people have had in these walls.

Until tomorrow. God speed.

Day 80 - The New Lido

I fear that I have lived a privileged life and that writing what I am going to write next will make me sound sanctimonious and poncy. It is not meant to be like that; the facts of the matter are that I have lived for most of my time in a house with a swimming pool – and if you are like me and have or had a swimming pool, will know that it is bitter sweet: there is nothing better than diving in the pool to wash the days dirt off but it’s a real bitch when the body of water decides that green is the new blue - and so swimming and mucking about in the pool comes very naturally. This also applies to my off spring who have lived, until now, in a house with a swimming pool. Since they were barely water safe we have always mucked about in the pool.

Consequently they are both reasonable swimmers, are confident in the water and so it’s not all bad.

And now we have chosen to live in England, where swimming pools in your backyard are, how do I put this, they’re not exactly a dime a dozen. Let me put it this way, on your approach into Heathrow or any other British airport, when you fly over the English countryside, you don’t see too many pools scattered over the landscape. Kreepies don’t exactly chug away. There isn’t a thriving pool supply shop in every high street. To understate things, it would be fairly niche.

But what does happen, because obviously the Brits, like other nations, like to swim too, is that local councils / municipalities build leisure centres for their respective communities. Imagine Virgin Active but council run, open to anyone who turns up. This is what we went to in Stafford on Sunday.

The kids wanted to swim. Nothing else except swimming would do. So off to Stafford Leisure Centre we went. I’m not a great fan of anything council but since our experiences so far have only really been positive I took the view that it was worth the drive, about 10km. The missus and I weren’t going to swim but the kids packed their stuff and were almost singing campfire songs in the car they were that excited! On arrival we parked (obviously), we paid and displayed (£1 for an hour) and got to the reception. £2 entry for the oldest, the youngest couldn’t swim because an adult needed to swim with him. Disappointment was etched into his face, irritation into mine! So off him and I went to the Superstore and bought me a pair of baggies (£7) so that I could swim with him. £2 entry for him, £4 for me and £1 for the locker – nothing is allowed to be poolside. The oldest in the meantime was doing lengths, up in the right hand of the lane she was in, down in the left of the lane. Or so the theory went. Only my oldest, being new to the Turkish prison routine, didn’t know this so disrupted everyone else in the lane. Repeatedly! Over and over. Only they were too polite to say anything.

Being forced to swim, the youngest and I mucked about in the general area. You know, him standing on my shoulders and doing somersaults off them, me throwing him, him climbing all over me. If you know me you’ll know that I’m quite considerate of others but I could see the probably ten life guards (that’s about eight more than we would have had on Toti beach on a Sunday morning), limbering up with their red shorts and yellow shirts, huddling in whispered tones but we carried on. Although we were up against the formidable health and safety protocols there was no one anywhere near us, it was safe, he wasn’t going to land on anyone, the worst that could happen was that he was going to wetter. CCTV cameras rotated on their plinths, their lenses zooming in on us, a hush enveloped the pool, and other bathers stank of distress. We think the duty manager was called, well because a bloke appeared with "DUTY MANAGER" written on the back of his shirt. Eventually it dawned on me that perhaps having fun wasn’t allowed on a Sunday morning. And definitely not whilst swimming. This was serious stuff this was. How dare we have fun on a Sunday when designated council binge drinking and super fun day was Friday. I’m sure that if we had continued the police would have been called. No seriously, I kid you not.

So we stopped. We were safe as was everyone else. An audible air of relief was evident. The life guards, those who got to wear their thousand yard stare, got their colour back. After a few minutes of composure gaining we exited the pool like lepers. No one would look at us. We had broken the golden rule of togetherness. We had fun (not in the sun though!). We had dared and won.

Still no line at home. I am on first name terms with the people at the library, another new experience. I think Telkom and BT have the same approach to new business, and that is, here’s the clue… two words, seven letters, it starts with F and ends with F.

Until tomorrow. Have a fab day!

Day 79 - Builders Crack

Am I the only one left in awe while watching a tradesman work? I’m not very good with my hands at all. I suppose I can just about handle myself when it comes to the simple stuff but when I watch someone who is an expert in their field work I sort of half want to join up as an apprentice or go to trade school to learn what they know. Hard ware stores are my best, and I love looking at all the power tools and all the stuff that you can buy with it and for it. OK I very rarely buy it because I know my technical limitations and I know that I will probably never use the thing how it’s supposed to be used. And I might hurt myself or someone else.

Being in this industry I have seen my more than fair share of building work and renovations. I have also, obviously spoken with a whole lot of good with their hands people over their years and every time, even now, I still want to join up as an apprentice. I don’t know why. Growing up it never interested me, we used to look down on those who wanted to be a mechanic or a carpenter. Now, I would love to have that skill. Yes I’ve picked up a bit of skill from observing them but I would still love to just know which wire goes where, which pipe feeds what bit. How do they know this stuff? How do they just know what to do and in what order. Like IT people too. How do they just know what to do? Have you ever tried to fix your own computer…you need midget hands, the brain of Hawkins and the patience of Job.

I have been bought to write about this as in the past few days I have been watching the tradesmen building and finishing the pub. It is a bit different to SA obviously, the main reason being that there are no blackomatics. All the labour has to be done by the trademen too, the upside is that there is no language barrier and that bloody bastard "angazi" has finally been put to rest. It is refreshing to see stuff like cupboard doors fitting properly, pieces being created by carpenters, tools not being broken or lost, painters painting the thing and not everything round it too. It refreshing to see them turning up every day, early in fact most days and being considerate. Its nice not to hear ‘but I have a problem’.

I have a mate who’s a plumber. A very talented one indeed but also blessed with the ability to do just about everything with any tool and any material. I have another who is an air con mechanic with the same ability and just natural understanding about how things work. Gents you have my respect.

So here we live in a flat, albeit a very spacious one, above a pub in an English village. It seems a million miles away from where we were only a few weeks ago but in the spirit of adapting to a new home we have quite quickly worked out where to shop and where to go. And it’s pretty simple unless you happen to stray into the rabbit’s warren of the country lanes. About as wide as bicycle tracks these hedge concealed lanes run in all directions, occasionally falling over a hamlet of dwellings and maybe a small village. In the past you would have a map printed onto your clothes or tattooed on your arm just in case. During the war, the Brits took down the directional signs so that the Germans would get lost if they ever invaded. Well let me tell you. If they did invade they would still be fucking lost! Unless of course they had a Sat Nav (you would know it as a GPS). This incredible piece of equipment has probably saved me a gaggle of arguments with the missus and about a million quid in petrol. If you ever come this way and plan to hire a car, just trust me, bring it with! Tom Tom is my new best friend. Yeah ok (sh!) it’s my only friend at the moment, and at least she has a nice voice.

Until tomorrow.

Day 78 - British Boozer

Britain is littered with pubs. Thousands and thousands and thousands of them all over the place. From the Red Lion to the Mill to the Golden Oak to the Bell it is the national symbol and you will see them in every street, village and in parts of the countryside that really you would not expect to see them. Unlike the more traditional landmarks such as Big Ben, Buckingham Palace and the like they will differ in presentation, size and colour but they are unfailingly recognised as what represents the face of Britain.

To go to the pub is the national past time. This is what people do here. It is their social activity, probably more than any other nation of people. And pubs are dying. More every day you see old pubs which have probably poured beer for centuries being converted into homes, flats, offices, curry restaurants, night clubs and worse of worse being boarded up and left to rot. The industry that employs hundreds of thousands of people and generates billions is, it is said, going through its worst ever trading period. So how can this be? This in a country of a growing population? I ask these questions not because I think you’re interested but rather because owning / running a pub is what I will be doing now that I am here. In a small English village, in the tail of a recession; I must be friggen mad! So am I?

For nearly ten years in the 90’s we ran pubs. Initially it was just me, then my significantly better half joined me and we went on for a number of years to run successful growth operations before heading off to corporate management. It was a different time then, money was plentiful, it was a bit before people started travelling more freely and widely and if you drank Malibu and coke you were looked upon as a bit odd and maybe showing off a bit.

How it worked then was quite simple. The majority of the pubs were owned and either managed, tenanted by or leased by the brewery. There were a number of major breweries around and they generally owned the land and the buildings of these pubs and supplied their beer to them (they had estates worth billions and billions of pounds). The good pubs they kept as managed which meant they made more money and they employed a bunch of area managers to go out and make sure that their pubs were running to budget. Back in those days we – and I was one of those area managers – took our job seriously, working extreme hours but being reasonably rewarded. We made the effort to understand the town in which we traded, we tried to employ people fit for the pub and we had a budget to ensure that our pubs looked good most of the time. Our bosses had worked their way up through the trade and were themselves experts in it. It was before the days of a degree being everything. We understood the dynamics of the trade and we did it by choice.

It seems, and it is early days, that a lot of that has changed with the bigger companies. The landscape as I knew it has changed somewhat. The big companies with their billions worth of land have got themselves into trouble and have been forced to split and restructure, some disappearing all together. With all their degrees and smartness, with all their money they forgot which side of their bread was buttered. Their previously reasonably successful and rent free estate should have been an outlet and a cash generator for their beers, which they brewed, for hundreds of years to come like it has been for hundreds of years already. They forgot that regardless of their wealth the whole circle depended on the simple customers, who were made to feel welcome, walking through the door. They forgot to find the best people possible because they were trying to cut cost instead of trying to boost turnover. They forgot to make their managers and tenant’s important people in their company. And consequently they have fallen apart. And all this in the name of the next merger. All this in the name of a better share price. And all this activity has taken the life from thousands of pubs across the country. It has cost jobs. It has bought stress. It has also bought opportunity, especially for smaller operators wanting to make good money from a handful of pubs.

And this is why I am here. There is opportunity, both for us as a family to start over, and for this type of pub in this village. This pub, some of it still visible, dates back to the 16^th century. The history in this building is immense and it has been stripped back to the past to high light this. It is a well-worn traditional pub that believe it or not is immeasurably different to the other five pubs in this village. When it is finished – and the work is still a month from being so – it will be the flagship of this small brewery (www.joulesbrewery.co.uk). Or we will die trying to make it so!

The sad thing is, just around the corner from us is another pub of similar age and with comparative history, only this one is owned by some faceless pub company. It has been renovated to hide all things old. They have ripped the soul out of it. And there is not a soul in it.

Lots to do in this next month. And do it we shall. Until tomorrow. Hopefully!