Five Bells, Cherry Hinton

Pub #126:

The Five bells has been on my short list for months, ever since someone got beaten to death in the car park for the sake of a 40 quid debt.  I’ve been past it on the bus a couple of times but today was the first time I was’t either exhausted, already piss drunk or in a hurry to another meeting.

As I came in the door, a guy comes around from the snooker table complaining about the other guy that just stole his onion and mushroom pie and rode off on a bike while he was busy racking the balls.  I liked the place already.

I got a pint of IPA and some crisps and headed off to the Old Git’s corner, and sat ‘neath a picture of the pub in a previous incarnation (also a pub, back in 1899).  I managed to steal yeat another coaster (I have dozens, and some of them are going to show up in lieu of Christmas Cards…if I actually know you, send me your address and I’ll add you to the list).

I got wrapped up in a long conversation, if you can call it that, with a mad, quite mad, retired (and thank god for that) lorry driver that went on for twenty minutes with this sort of general arc:

Him: “Oh Aye it’s hard to move house, him that just left is moving a mile down the road.”
Me: “Mmm-hmm, we just moved from the states so I can imagine what a hassle a move of a mile might be.”
Him: “And, not only that, he moved from Cambridge City Council to South Cambridgeshire Council, so there’s that to contend with.  Mind, it helps if you know the new tenant so’s they can forward your mail.”
Me: “Yup. Yup. Y’know, I still get junk mail forwarded, but important things take weeks to come over.”
Him: “Nooooo. And, you know what else? They expect you to sort that junk different when they pick up your recyclables. Tsk.”

And then there was thiry seconds on that topic and an abrubt change to another, and so on.  This is absolutely wonderful, if it is the standard fare.