This weekend, Jason & I traveled to Colchester to see Carole (Jason's mom, for those not keeping up with the family tree). On Saturday, we walked into town to do some shopping, and Jason managed to slip off to watch the ManU-Arsenal premiere league final (I think) at a pub.
Once we reunited, we did what all good English-folk do on any day that's above 50F and not raining (this day happened to be probably about 60F and blustery): we went to enjoy a beer out-of-doors.
You might think I'm exaggerating about the weather conditions, but on any half-decent evening, or weekend day after about 1pm, pubs along our street -- or rather, the sidewalk space fronting them -- are packed with folks just waiting for what might be a glimpse of the sun. (The insides of the pubs tend to be empty during these times.) Frequently the patrons are severely underdressed for the circumstances. In said 60F / blustery conditions, I wear a jacket, jeans, possibly a light scarf. The average English girl will be in a tank top and inappropriately short skirt for the occasion, or any occasion really. Guys in shorts and short sleeves. All just hoping for a passing ray or two.
While our attire may look out of place, we are quickly learning about the meaning of the term 'British Summer' and I for one am craving any spot of sunshine I can get. (Jason says summer is on its way, and that we should appreciate the nice April we had.) Now for what I intended to share when I started this post: As we sat at our picnic table at The Castle pub, the table next to us sat empty, save a half-finished pint. At one point, this fairly average-looking bloke walks in to the patio area from off the street, looks around, downs the half-pint in about 6 seconds, puts down the glass, and returns from whence he came.
True story, all of it!
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