A pint, and a half

We enjoyed our pint and a half in Hammerton Brewery tap room.

I drank N1, and (Sir) John drank Penton, the Oatmeal Stout.

“My gran would have loved this” he said, “breakfast and lunch.”

I smiled, with a hint of question, as he’d been very talkative and I was soaking it all in, keen not to interrupt his flow.

“She always had a glass of stout for lunch, and porridge for breakfast – saw her add a tot of whiskey in cold weather too, but don’t tell anyone” he confided.

He asked about why I write.

“It is an expression of me, written words, from a place which is indelibly etched somewhere, perhaps many wheres within me, yet indefinable beyond that. And, it is my immense pleasure, for me.”

“One of my tutors remarked, a few years ago, about observing me searching for the right word, as this was important to me. Words are important, and so is writing.”

Silence of comfort, of familiarity between us, already.

“I recall when you came to St Enodocs, with your tall and arresting wife. You came, it felt to me, on an unknown pilgrimage. Coming to somewhere which was important, to others, which you respected, yet you did not have a relationship with the place, the church, the churchyard, with me, yet.”

Lots to unpack in this, I realise, lots indeed.

“Your quietness spoke volumes to me, your respect. Both of you, and that elegant dog of yours. Remember, I’ve been there for thirty six years. I see many people coming, golfers and dog walkers and tourists and literary gadflys, and many less appealing parts of humanity. I have lots of context for judging people, and lost of time to do so.”

“Fascinated also by how your wife – I think you describe her as Beautiful T in your writing – enabled you to be there, that’s what it felt like.”

“You must bring her again, next time. Does she like warm beer?”

“No, a fan of good craft beer (Sir) John” I replied.

“I take that to be Yes” he said, and looked down at me from his skyward height.

“We will get along nicely, I’m sure.”

“One more request, if I may?”

“Its granted already, once it is in my power” I assured him.

“Will you read to me next time, some of your writing about St Enodoc’s? I love your voice, what a voice for radio. Up there, as I gaze skywards, in my saved station. To have some words of magic about St Enodocs ……. ”