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A British Pub Recommendation
by Stephen Philip Druce

I have never been a great fan of pubs, but a friend recommended 'The Dead Stoat'.

Shit hole. A yucky yellow decor and the bar looked like a dungeon slumped in corpses.

The old beams were so low I had to belly dance under them on a carpet so stained it was made of 50% actual stain.

I popped into the snug - a small private area of the pub, specifically built for patrons that like to go out for the evening and hide away from people - thats pretty logical. I really enjoyed socialising in a tiny room with these manic depressive, tortoise-like characters that revelled in an atmosphere of morose abject misery - very uplifting.

In the main bar a small group of old guys invited me to join them in a game of dominoes.

I politely declined - "sorry fellas, I haven't lost my mind to the point of getting aroused at the sight of grown adults placing plastic oblong shapes with dots on, next to some more plastic oblong shapes with dots on".

Lavish bar snacks were available - smoked salmon?, prawn cocktail?, chicken l'orange?. Not quite - pork scratchings. Yes a bag of mishapen chunks of pig skin covered in salty shit. How about that for an appetizer?. On second thoughts - no, you can't trust a hairy snack.

The only oppurtunity for romance was a drunken dance with the landlady, who had two chins, one shoelace, and a tattoo of a vacuum cleaner on her face. She was so rough I couldn't tell the front of her from the back.