With thanks to Petite anglaise for jogging my memory

It was our holy place.

Somewhere for us to join together and indulge ourselves in the serenity that surrounded us. A place of peace, and refuge. Not your usual place of worship you understand but a special sanctuary nonetheless. Free from the rigours of any religion, hard-earned cash in hand and smiles on faces, we'd make our own kind of pilgrimage to...
The Temple Public House (est...oooh...errrm...Nineteen seventy something?), our hallowed local.

Now to some, a paltry pub may not hold much import, but to us it was our get away. And I can't remember which one of us found it, but that doesn't matter anymore.

On approaching the pub, most punters would have been put off and turned away because on first glance it almost looked closed. But to the trained eyes of us regulars, a dim but inviting light could always be seen.

You see, the Temple was an 'old man's pub', the last bastion of British Culture. On entering one would be greeted by the chattering hum of the fruit machines, faux wood-panelled walls and hazy lighting. The secondary greeting always followed closely as Brian the cheery landlord would look up from his task in hand, and bellow "Hey guys, good to see you again...what'll be? Five pints of Stella?" A bear of a man with a beer belly to be proud of, Brian always had a genuinely happy to see us smile, and with his knowledge for all his regulars' tipple of choice and offers of "Swing by a little early on Sunday and you can have some roast spuds", was the kind of man that I just wanted to run up to and hug tightly.

We never tired of the place. Who could? With it's fine selection of beer and ale on draught and prices that always held, there was something for everyone; a quiet (even more dimly lit) corner for those who wanted to have a chat, a more 'lively' area with quiz and fruit machines, table football, pool tables, darts and a juke box with an excellent selection of decent music.
It was heaven.

I was heart broken to hear that Brian had sold up to go travelling round the world with his missus, and that the new owners had turned it into a money-making pit filled with sponsored t-shirts, large screen tvs and generic decor. Oh how I grieved and mourned.

And I still think of it fondly and often as I realise that ever since I moved to the big smoke, I have never found a place that lived up to such high standards. Having a friendly local can make the world of difference.

And I don't half miss the place.

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