Monday Night at the Albar

I stand at the end of the bar, sipping my pint of mild and nibbling on a piece of crunchy home baked pork rind. The pub has a warm cosy vibe tonight, a refuge from the darkening winters night outside and a bustle of workers making their way home. Richard enthuses about his handiwork and quite right to, the mild is 3%abv, tawny and absolutely bursting with flavour and body, I could drink it all night. I watch down the bar , the handpumps are working hard, May is Handpump Festival at Albar, the pump closest to me is dispensing my creation. I watch as punters order pints, real pints imperial pints not like the ones up north, sniff the voluminous sparkler driven white foam (that will not adorn my pint when I get to ordering it) and then sip deep. They seem to like it, I like it, all is well.