Okay, I haven’t been to the Crown and Anchor or, if I have, it was in one of my drunken stupors* during graduate school (I seemed to wake up in Austin frequently). This has more to do with the Drunken Bunny shirt offer last month…and it looks more like a yuppie-themed dive than anything as authentically dive-y as the Scumdown, where I first got tore-up with the shirt’s source (see below).
The call to G-Had was hot so I headed to Chilton Foliat to test drive the new shirt, just arrived from a wanker I know in Colorado [btw, I need to have some new Drunken Bunny shirts made to get your size, Brownie]. It comes from a dive in Austin, the Crown and Anchor, and has been in transit since 15 October according to the US Customs stamp (the delay, no doubt, has to do with the liberal dope laws in Colorado as does the obvious tampering with the packaging). An extra-large, it makes the outer layer of cold weather running kit but it might shrink once laundered … although that is unlikely to happen until a stranger comments on the odour — some traditions must be upheld.
Chilton Foliat is a nice little village in the Kennet valley with steep hills on either side of the river and a pub that doesn’t open till noon so I left the bus stop to pollute the trail and to make my way to Ramsbury where, as luck would have it, my first pint wearing the new shirt would be at the Crown and Anchor (link to follow). This was auspicious and as such I didn’t even realise the fact until I was making plans to hit the Bell at the bottom of the hill just as I was reaching the bottom of my glass.
The trot back involved more trail help for the NWH3 and ended at the Wheatsheaf where the mysterious vanishing cue ball — not experienced since The King’s Arms in All Cannings (coincidentally also with a lesbian motif, there only decorative) — recurred … Brownie, this deserves a spot of honour when it arrives (and where the fuck is my gnome?).
*As Bob Dylan once sang:
“I may look like the Mayor of Toronto,
But, I feel just like Jesse James.”