I ‘ve just spent £22.75 on batteries and a roll of film. That’s the equivalent of six pints of decent beer.
I’ve had to have a sit down to get over it. Erdinger is easing my pain.

I’m now in my local. My second in command isn’t too impressed with the time taken to consume four pints of Mr Smith’s stout (three of which were the chocolate variety),
I’m with Double Maxim right now. There are signs that I may be forgiven.
Anyway, a lingering memory of beauty.

This evening, my second in command …

… decided that we should visit Mr Smith’s house in Durham.

Always an excellent host, Mr Smith served us his delicious Extra stout.

And, of course, his most delicious Organic Chocolate Stout.

And some strawberry beer.

There are several pubs in our street, four within a couple of minutes walk. The most horrible in appearance, while not necessarily the worst pub, is The Queens Head. It’s had something of a facelift at some point (I’d guess around the 1970s or 80s) and this probably destroyed any original character. This picture’s from 2010, a random picture from the internet, but it still looks just as bad now.

I think it’s such a shame that pubs are having a hard time nowadays and that money hasn’t been spent on restoration. I say restoration, rather than further improvement, because this was clearly once a most beautiful pub. As can be seen here, in this picture from 1904.

Sadly, it seems that the upper part of the building had been completely rebuilt some time before its more recent facelift. I’d have loved to see inside the original.

I’m currently in the Wortley Almshouses; in the rather excellent company of Miss Isaac and Mr Smith.

I highly recommend Mr Smith’s organic chocolate stout. But leave some for me.

I may have mentioned before. But I’ve a fondness for Mr Samuel Smith’s Imperial Stout. This isn’t Guinness, which I adored before the addition of fish bits. This is pure heaven in a glass. That may sound a little like a Sainsbury’s commercial, but I can’t say in words how gorgeous this beer is.

On Tuesday things get even better. I shall have the chocolate variety.

Bored with shopping, and with all this talk of contagion (yes, I know it’s not real), I thought I should further protect myself by urgently consuming vitamins.

However, it’s well known that such things don’t taste very nice. So I’ve opted for the liquid form.

Looking at my Epifection map, though, makes me think I should cross the high level bridge soon.

I may have to take refuge in the Central, on the other side of the bridge.

I may be in heaven. In the Central, in the company of Mr Samuel Smith and his rather excellent oatmeal stout. Seriously, this is happiness.

Right, my local (the three tuns) has a pizza festival right now. You need to go there. Right now. And if you can’t, go tomorrow. Or the next day.

I’m not talking about squishy takeaway pizza. This is real pizza (in a Sainsbury’s commercial kind of voice).

Seriously, just get yourself here this (long) weekend.

Met my significant other from work this evening. Elvis was there. I had a wee with him. I guess he was caught in a trap urinal.