It was one of those places that people went to, to drink as much as possible in the shortest time. There were tiles well above head height, the floor was tiled and covered in sawdust, at shift change staff hosed it out and put down fresh sawdust. -- Anon Guest
There wasn't a menu. There weren't interesting bottles on the back shelf. There was barely a back shelf, which held a bottle of suspicious pickled eggs, which also held a pickled vermin animal. The shelf also held the large, club-like object that was usually hidden under the bar.
It was that kind of pub.
People didn't go here to socialise. People didn't go here for a good time. They came here to get drunk and temporarily escape the miseries of their lives. Which was exactly the kind of pub you got in a place that existed because nobody could get out. The miasma in this place was full of misery, hopelessness, and stale urine. As well as the vinegary mess they excused as beer in this place.
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