10.15 Saturday Night

The people of Keighley are spoiled. They've the best brewery in the world, and some of the best pubs in which to drink it its beer. It's like living in Stuttgart and getting a Porsche to drive around in. Or something.

Highly subjective things, pubs, and I've wittered on about the Boltmaker's Arms several times on TIW. How it's the de facto brewery tap for the Timothy Taylor brewery, how they serve the definitive pint* of Landlord. How it was one of the first places I ever raised a pint glass to my lips. As I fed another Seabrook's crisp to a punter's spaniel, It dawned on me on saturday night that this little workaday boozer was the best pub on earth. It was freezing outside, but the real fire was pumping out heat. It was busy, but there were two staff behind the tiny bar - you didn't have to wait. Not much room to sit, but somebody always budged up so you and your mates could perch until you got a table. A mix of people of all classes, and rarely these days in a town centre pub - all ages. And beer so consitently excellent it's hard not to take it for granted. If the Bolts was in London, I'd probably never go to work.

*Actually, the Jury's out whether the benchmark beer is served at the Brown Cow, The Boltmakers or the Fleece in Haworth. They're all outstanding - and too close to call.