A Night At the Harp

Folks in America probably won't know what I'm talking about when I say I went to the local the other night; the local pub, that is. In my case the local is called The Harp and it is a wonderful little place with the kind of ambiance that money simply can't buy. You need giant (about 3 foot square) thick Welsh flagstones covering the floor. You need a sort of dark seafoam green coat of paint on the walls, the walls that aren't 400-year-old timbers, that is. You need pieces of leather harness decorated with horse brasses and a hunting horn, a big crackling fire in a nice old stone hearth and some proper Welsh settles with nice cushions on them. You nee


You need to be a bit laid back and prepared to sit around old oak pub tables in worn wooden chairs and wait for the next slyly told joke and the looks that pass between the folks that have known each other all their lives.
Well, really what you need to do is just get out and visit some really good old English (or Welsh) pubs and have a few pints with the neighbors and learn about everything fr

Here's to the Harp, a mighty fine pub! And to all the locals everywhere.
David and Jenny, new owners of the Harp.