Well there's no point in beating around the bush here - The Railway Inn is fucking shit. Utterly nondescript. It's mostly patronised by people who own caravans in the vicinity. The impression I have of these people from my visits is that they quite like having a caravan in Wales, but they would much prefer that there was a beach in Dudley. The one thing you can absolutely guarantee about these cunts is that at some point in their lives they have all been into a pub in Wales where the second they stepped in through the door, everyone started speaking Welsh. Because the world revolves around them. There's not much more to say about The Railway except that it was forgettable, and that we were sat at a table overlooked by a photograph of one of my drinking companion’s ancestors in an Edwardian era Borth football XI. This is Wales after all. I would also like to add at this stage that had I chosen to spend all of my bank holiday weekends and subsequent retirement i...
Beer, n. An alcoholic liquor obtained by the fermentation of malt, and flavoured with hops. Hiraeth, n. A profound feeling of longing, loss, or nostalgia for a person, place, or past (even imagined).