I'm in Leeds for a few days with the family. A chance to wallow in nostalgia, or so I thought*. I'm a decade or two too late.
We're staying in an apartment just south of the river. Opposite the Tetley's brewery, of what was it. From my bed I can watch heavy machinery chopping and grinding the last pieces of the brewery into dust. There's some sort of metaphor there.
It's much the same in town with Tetley's beer. Some run-down or derelict pubs still bear Tetley's signage, but the majority of their former tied houses have no sign of the Tetley name. Only one pub I've been in sold Tetley. OK, there's a much wider range of beer available now, but it still makes me feel sad.
On a happier note, Andrew's had his first pint in a British pub. A pint of Guinness:
He could have startede with something worse. Much worse.
Guess what I've got planned this morning? An archive visit. Not to actually look at anything. I've an appointment for that Thursday morning. Hopefully to continue the Tetley theme of the trip.
* I lived in Leeds for seven years as a young man. I drank almost exclusively Tetley's Mild all that time.
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