I went out to the Bowood House and Gardens for a run because the day was splendid and the grounds are hilly and covered with 17th century farm structures. My bus dropped me at the Soho, so how could I pass up that opportunity? Inside it was crowded with Sunday diners and the staff were friendly but not in that Bill Hick’s way (“plaster on a fake grin and plow through this shit one more time,”) but they seemed to actually enjoy each other’s company enough to make up for being trapped inside dishing hash to the public. I’m always suspicious of this sort of behaviour at first, then usually think, “oooohhhh…they’re imbeciles;” so, this was a rare treat: intelligent and genuinely nice folk serving the public in what seems like a public service. Well done.
Oh, three Wadworth ales…I had a perfectly kept Henry’s IPA.