What WAYNE Misses The Most About Epsom
I wish it would be a tough choice between a game of football at Priest Hill, a wander through the 400-year-old market, or maybe returning to host my podcast ‘Why Aren’t You Normal Epsom’. As much as I hoped these things could compete, I think I have no choice really…it’s the pubs.
Pubs. The cornerstone of British culture. Whatever tipple you desire, be it a bottle of beer or a small spritzer. A social playing field where sharp tongues shred atmospheres and divvies between inebriated ears. A place of debate and debauchery, insight and idiocy. Topics usually given no thought to suddenly explode with an intensity that would be frowned upon in cafes. The disappointed parent of the online forum.
Whether you live in squalor or as a scholar there is a local. Is it The Assembly rooms? With the clientele subjective to the hour. Faraday? With its modern energy. McCafferty’s? A residence reminding us of the past.
However, glasses collect dust as cleaners are quarantined, a harsh reminder of the frailty of our nature when denied nurture. No more evening sips at sundown due to lockdown, no more Sunday evening drink preparing for Mondays think. Imagine the conversation the last time you walked out the (Br)exit. The sad imagery of empty rooms drying my desperate to be dampened desires.
Alas, light at the end of the bar. I open the door and the humdrum chatter meets my ears. The smell of damp bar mats fills my nostrils. I gaze upon a table full of loved ones, amber glows from their beverage reflect onto faces under the summer sun. I feel both hands on the bar as my taste buds welcome freedom. Soon to enjoyed once more.
Roll on the sense of community. Let’s reclaim that responsibility, lets accept the duty I am certain we strive to achieve. For all those reasons above, yes, it must be. Pubs.