The Roaring Donkey, Swindon

I left the Kings just as the bottom fell out of the clouds…it was absolutely pouring and my glasses were opaque with spray outside and steam closer to my eyes before I got a block away.  I dove into the Roaring Donkey for shelter and a pint of Tribute.

The bartender looked similar to Billie Piper, only prettier.  She also had proper rough bar help hands that made me feel girlish and wimpy when she handed back my change, so I stiffed her on the tip; that’ll teach her a lesson for being hot, working a hip job, and pointing out my sad case of “professor-hands.”

There is an upper bar through a window from the one I was in.  A table full of folks nearby went through a couple rounds while I nursed my beverage awaiting clear skies; they spoke of their Wednesday evening bar, which I don’t remember the name of, but that they always come here for Thursday and Friday night.  Good boys, them.

There’s music here sometimes, too.  Friendly, funny bar.  Glad I found it.