I meet my friend in The Rummer Tavern. I haven’t been here for ages and my friend hasn’t been here at all. I know quite a lot of people that haven’t experienced the Rummer. It seems strange. Great pub, located as close to Queen Street as you can be (just the other side of the nesting colony of flyering unicyclists), knowledgeable staff, good beer and decent food.
The reason I choose it this evening is that the rugby is on and pubs nearer the stadium will be rammed. As it happens, they put it on the TV here. A TV I didn’t know existed.
I find us seats and go to the bar.
Iron Maiden beer. On tap. It’s called Trooper and should taste of a giant zombie, jet planes, sweat and metal. I’ve had beers that would fit this description before. This isn’t one of them. This really nice, copper coloured, quite smooth and complimenting the Wales v Tonga game rather well.
Midway through my second pint I hear a screech from near the bar. I can only describe it as the sound of a seabird in peril. It turns out to be a woman getting overexcited by a Welsh try about 2 minutes after they’d scored it.
The pub conversation drifts to a debate about Welsh folk music and the way it’s portrayed in the 21st century. Controversially I order a Hereford Pale Ale to accompany this. I didn’t want to go too nationalistic. It’s quite hoppy and a bit flowery. I reckon Ermintrude from The Magic Roundabout would like it a lot.
Another screech from the bar, I momentarily think a gannet has flown into it and then remember the rugby, we’ve scored a second try.
We stick to the two beers tonight (well, two of one, three of the other) and sensibly decide that midnight is a good time to go home.
We go to Burger King. I’m pretty sure they have deployed a gravitational pull. Maybe if I mention them enough one of two things will happen. Either they’ll sponsor me or an awesome BBQ joint will open on my way home, now aware of the amount of money I’ll part with after a few beers.
I’ll be happy with either.