The White Hart, Beaconsfield, Buckinghamshire   Leave a comment


Pub #2110:

A bleak couple of miles followed the stop at the Falcon; just outside the bucolic limits of Woodburn Moor the path followed the Motorway back into Beaconsfield. There were 3 or more pubs at the next roundabout but I was attracted to the sign for the White Hart but had to look around because the pub was across-and-down the street.



In the garden, twenty or so football fans interrupted each others’ conversations with some braggardly song or another which, after a bar or two, everyone else joined in.  Dickheads, I reckoned, and this was confirmed as I put on my headphones to leave when one of these assholes stood in my way and demanded if I was “red or blue.”

“Pardon me,” I asked while holding the right earbud an inch out of the canal.

“Are you,” he repeated, through clenched jaw while jabbing with a finger at the middle of my chest but not quite making contact, “red,” jab, “or,” jab, “blue?”

Smiling and re-fitting the earbud, I sang back, “She comes in colours everywhere.”  He stood his ground.  “She combs her hair.”  Still in my way, but when I went on a couple of his lieutenant dickheads joined me; “She’s like a raiiiiinnnnnnn-bow,” we sang in perfect dissonance.  I was actually listening to a documentary on the player about EU economic policy after Brexit, but no one needed to know that.  Nice boys, I hope they found the fight they were looking for.




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