The Fox on the Hill, Denmark Hill, London   Leave a comment

 

Pub #2068:

I slowly warmed up on the run from Brixton when out of the corner of my eye I spotted the Fox on the Hill pub.  Not yet sweating, this seemed a perfect time to replenish my cooling system ahead of the third section of the day’s run.  I took a lovely dark beer to the only empty table  I could find and assessed the crowd of mostly old guys with those barrel-like bodies separated from their heads by no neck at all.  Nicely turned out, of course, but that seems to be a thing east and south of the city (and, what with it being Sunday and all…).

That’s some of the fun at a Sunday pub visit in this sort of neighbourhood.  I haven’t worn at tie since the day I got out of the Army at the end of 1983 but I’ve always known people instilled with the sartorial grace that comes from the annual trip to the tailor for one (or, on a good year, two) bespoke suits — that thing cut from whole cloth.  These old gents aren’t the last of the breed (although they use up a lot more cloth than they used to) but you are more likely to find off-the-rack “finery” and more easily disposable accoutrements than my generation.  The old men (my peeps) show class but not necessarily their class; the young fellows (and me, since we spend the same on threads despite them spending it on bits that will get them past a night club doorman) show common-to-dead-common and, perhaps and thus, a bit too much of our class.  I can only apologise for myself.

 

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Posted February 28, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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