pub-building

A Pint…or two…at The Spaniard InnKinsale, Co Cork, Ireland 2008

anonymous asked:

The article in the Mail about PH "second dad" Dwyer says that PH conducted his "secret" relationship in Dwyer's pubs. How on earth do you meet someone in secret in a pub? For those are not Aussies or Brits a pub is a building full of people sitting and standing in each other's company having a drink. You'd be better off being secret at Piccadilly Circus! And why is their relationship a "secret"? Is it because it doesnt exist? That's my guess!!

😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂first of all she is not a pub girl. So the whole article is pure BS and also did this come straight from Dyers mouth? Because I know he met her in Toronto at Soho house through Eugene and when she was in London last year they spent time at Soho farm house but I haven’t heard of him taking to meet Dyer at his pub. Have a great day anon.

Thanks😊👍

They made it clear from the start that the slightest deviation from the norm would be punished. They turned everything into prisons, even our own bodies.
Wear pink. Play with dolls. Look in the mirror. Go to school. Learn to smile when they abuse you. Diet, wax, apply make-up, and swallow your medication. Follow fashion. Work. Consume. Be silent. Give him a porn star experience. Get married. Shop, cook, wash, iron, dust, vacuum, scrub and polish. Work a 15-hour shift (but don’t call housework ‘work’). Get into debt. Have children. Stay married (or they’ll destroy you and your children). Watch TV. Wear stilettos. Obey their laws. Save for your old age. Now repeat after me: 'I am free’.
Just to make sure I knew who my masters were they spat on m, groped me, pinched me, grabbed me and shoved me at school, in the street, in homes, on buses, in parks, pubs, clubs, everywhere. They shouted at me from cars, building sites, pub windows and doors, everywhere that I was a slut, an ugly bitch, a fat slag, a stupid cow, a skinny cow, a sexy dog, that they would fuck me, hit me, damage me, and destroy me. They made grunting noises and flapped their tongues. They raped me, beat me, pulled the hair out of my head, and kicked me. They threatened to kill me and told me to kill myself. They always wanted to know my weight, size, age and height as though this information was useful for their plans. They harassed me when I studied or worked, they just wouldn’t leave me alone. Then they told me I lacked a sense of humour.

They told me to practise positive thinking and to cleanse myself of toxic emotions. They told me to live in the 'Now’ like a toddler, or a goldfish with a five-second memory. They treated me like a child, demanded that I behave like a child and look like a 15-year-old, and then they told me I was immature and childish.
They said, “Consider yourself lucky, this is a democracy and we’ve given women the freedom to choose their own lives and be what they want to be.”
When I mentioned the word 'misogyny’ they called me a man-hater. When I spoke up against fascist pornography they told me I needed a good fuck. “The answer to your problems,” they said, “is between our legs.” When I spoke about the rise of rape culture they told me I definitely needed a good fuck. But by then I had stopped taking it personally.
“Listen,” I said, “what we really need is a vigorous, earth-shaking, relentless, uninhibited, wild, passionate, intoxicating, angry, unapologetic, long-overdue, exciting, luscious revolution.”
Because this was never personal, this was always political.
—  Abigail Bray, “The fascism that has no name” in Misogyny Re-Loaded
Volan and Asher || Closing Time

The pub was a dusty building on the edge of town. Many of the locals had a hard time figuring out how the establishment stayed open with the infrequent traffic that it saw. It wasn’t exactly falling apart, lets not go too far now. The place just didn’t seem to get enough business to the untrained eye. Too bad for them. Or good? Depends on the person.

Volan bumped his way through the front door carrying a wooden crate of some sort towards the counter of the bar. He whistled contently as he made his away across the floor and between the mostly unattended tables. There weren’t too many other customers at this hour. A bit too early yet. The ones he saw on his way were typical regulars who had a taste for beer and not much else wanted out of life.

The sound of the commotion caused the old male at the back of the counter to snap awake from his nap, grunting a bit unhappily.

“Oy s’bout time ye got here. Look I fell ‘sleep ye took so long. S’everythin there?”

The rogue rolled his eyes and fought the urge to mock the elder’s terrible slurring accent. He knew better. As old as he was he had a keen eye, a keen ear and a keener hand that could smack any warrior’s face off. He ceased his whistling and roughly placed the crate onto the counter.

“Yeah, Dorren, it’s there. I’d check but y’know. Closed package on delivery yada yada yada.” He sighed in mild frustration and held his hand out, rubbing his fingers together in that lovely gesture of Fucking pay me. The older man grunted as he lifted the crate, made a quick inventory and feeling content with the contents, counted out several gold coins that Volan very quickly snatched up and put away in his pockets. The rogue glanced around, smiled, then turned back to Dorren.

“Y’know what? Give me a drink. I think I’ll stick around awhile before I head out.”

“Wot? Very unlike you… Ynot busy eh? Aight, s’on the house.. kinda underpaid ye for the job anyway.”

Volan snorted with an amused smile. This wasn’t too much of a surprise for him. It was really par for the course with this work. Once Dorren had placed a mug of some god knows what drink on the bar Volan snatched it up and went to a nearby table. Taking a solid swig of the drink he started to slide into feeling comfortable. That was until he saw an unfamiliar face out of the corner of his eye. His head cocked to the side just enough to get a better view and he raised a brow. Who was this lady?

Oxford archaeologists find 92 skeletons at medieval church site

Ninety-two human skeletons have been found on the site of a medieval church in Oxford.

Archaeologists made the discovery near the Kassam Stadium after a valuation was carried out as part of a planning application for a new hotel. Paul Murray, from John Moore Heritage Services, described the discovery of the burials as “amazing”.

The derelict Priory pub is the only building that remains of a nunnery founded on the site in 1110 AD.

Whilst its location was known to experts, the full extent of its contents is only now becoming clear.

A series of “very unusual burials” were found at the site, including a woman found in a face down position, another who was a victim of blunt force trauma to the back of the head, and a stillborn child. Read more.

Creepypasta #436: Edinburgh Cellar

First, a little bit of background about me. I’m a mid-20s guy who lives in Edinburgh, Scotland. I have just graduated university and now work in a bar full time, until I can find a job in my field (slim pickings with a Psychology degree). The bar I work in is where this all started. Well, it’s more of a pub; old building, old fashioned, old customers. But in an effort to be more “tourist friendly”, we now have an extensive wine list and serve food in the evenings. The pub is on the Royal Mile – one of Edinburgh’s oldest streets which nowadays is predominantly bars, restaurants and tourist shops selling umbrellas and ponchos for the shitty Scottish weather. I had been working there for about two months, so was beginning to get to know my way around and take on more responsibilities.

One night, when I was on until close, one of my duties was to stock the bar for the next day. This involves going downstairs to the cellar and gathering any spirits, bottled beers, juice, etc. in order to stock the bar, ready for service the next day. I’d done it a few times, normally with my buddy who works with me, but he was off ill that night so I was left to do it myself.

Now, I’m not sure how much you know about Edinburgh and its history? I mean, it’s an absolutely beautiful city, but it’s creepy as fuck. A castle built on a dormant volcano, witch hunts and home to various serial killers and grave robbers of the past, and lots of other creepy shit like that. Not many people know, even the people who have lived here all their lives, that some parts of Edinburgh (known as ‘Old Town’) is actually built on top of older buildings. A city built on top of a city. I’m serious… Google it. On the surface is a booming city; but underneath are ancient vaults: houses, schools, town halls. Derelict buildings that were abandoned and built on top of to create a fresh start for industrial Edinburgh.

Basically, in the 1600s, Edinburgh was stricken with the plague. In case you don’t know, the plague induced symptoms like swollen glands, puss-filled lumps in the arms and groin, severe vomiting which could often result in people vomiting their internal organs out. Nearly everyone who came into contact with the plague died from it. Scary shit.

Then, after the plague had wiped out half of Edinburgh, officials decided to block off all the buildings and start again by building new houses on top of the old ones. A fresh start free from any illnesses. Again, I couldn’t make this stuff up – Google it.

Anyway, working in a busy bar right in the heart of Edinburgh, means that I had a lot of stock to collect from the cellar – and I was now on my own as my buddy off work. And of course the storage cellar is downstairs… in the abandoned vaults of Edinburgh’s Old Town. Okay, fair enough, it’s just an abandoned room now, so off I went down to collect the locally made bottled beers and Irn-Bru.

This is where things get a bit creepy. I actually thought it was a few of the waiters and chefs playing a prank on me. We like to take the piss out of each other sometimes; pranks like leaving the head of the beer tap slightly unscrewed so that beer sprays in all directions over the other bar staff, were regular occurrences in the bar. You know the usual practical jokes. Harmless. Just a bit of fun.

The cellar isn’t big. Imagine a dark room with kegs of beer up one wall, bottled beers and cans of juice stacked up against the other wall, and a cage. The cage is where we keep all the spirits, to avoid any of the staff helping themselves to a nip of whisky on their break.

The kegs are all stored up the right hand side, and the cage was built in on the opposite wall. Not very big, but enough room to store all the stock for the bar.

Anyway, I was down in the cellar and I heard what sounded like children giggling. It actually reminded me of my 7 year old niece, but it sounded like there were two of them. I thought it was just a practical joke and that the chefs would be hiding around the corner putting on silly voices, or playing some children’s voices from YouTube.

“Ring-a-ring o’ roses, A pocket full of posies, A-tishoo! A-tishoo! We all fall down”

This is what I heard, but it was slower and echoed creepily around the cellar. Again, I just thought it was a joke.

“Very funny guys”, I laughed as I carried the rest of the stock up stairs and finished my bar work for the night. I thought no more about it until the next week.

The next week I was working the close at the bar again. And my buddy was still off sick. I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks now; I’d need to pay him a visit. Anyway, I was gathering the stock as normal; cans of juice collected, bottles of beers stocked up, the only thing left was the spirits. I went to get the key; an antique looking key, which was too old to get copied so we only had one of them. I opened the cage to get the whisky down from the top shelf when I heard again,

“Ring-a-ring o’ roses, A pocket full of posies, A-tishoo! A-tishoo! We all fall down”

And the cage door slammed behind me. “Fuck!” I must have left the upstairs door open and the draft blew the door shut. Fuckin’ shat myself. I reached into my back pocket to find the key, but it wasn’t there. Had I left it on the counter outside?

“Ring-a-ring o’ roses”

Maybe I had dropped it taking some of the stock up to the bar?

“A pocket full of posies”

Now was not the time for the chefs to be playing a prank on me. “Quit it guys”, I stuttered.

“A-tishoo! A-tishoo!”

“Come let me out of the cage, I’m locked in”

“We all fall down”

When I heard “We all fall down”, I freaked the fuck out. Two young girls were standing in the cellar. Holding hands and spinning in circles singing.

“Ring-a-ring o’ roses, A pocket full of posies, A-tishoo! A-tishoo! We all fall down”

What the actual fuck?! I must have been dreaming or this is the most elaborate prank the guys had ever played. The two girls looked about seven or eight years old and were still spinning and singing. Creepy fucking singing. Why were they dressed like that? Dirty night dresses and no shoes. I must be dreaming. “Just close your eyes and you’ll wake up”, I thought to myself. So I did. I scrunched my eyes shut and blanked everything out. I woke up. It was just a dream. But I was still locked in the cage? I must have been hallucinating. I turned around to check I hadn’t left the key on the shelf with the whisky on it. FUCK!

The two girls were in the cage with me. I freaked the fuck out; dropping the bottle of whisky in my hand and scrambling to get out of there, but the bloody cage was still locked.

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I love Windenburg, but I want to spend the holidays in Blythe Harbor (with Sam and Arlene and snow!), so I’m back there for a bit. Here’s a work-in-progress pic of a pub I’m building for main street. I have no earthly idea what will be next door; I’ll probably completely change that side of it before I’m done!

(I decided to call the pub Callahan’s after the awesome Simlish pub signs by @thesimsblues.) 

The Homesick Truant’s Cumbrian Yarn

Talk and Live Draw at Hardknott on Track, the new real ale pub, Station Building, Millom, LA18 5AA

Sat 14 March 1pm - 4pm

Oliver East is one of a new wave of comic creators who takes both art and comics in uncharted directions.

East was the worthy recipient of the first Lakes International Comic Art Festival artist commission in association with The Brewery Arts Centre Kendal.

During the harsh winter of 2014 Oliver East began his most ambitious project to date. East walked over 140 miles in 10 stages from Arnside train station to Carlisle train station keeping as close as possible to the Cumbrian Coastal Train Line.

East adds a new voice for our times, pithy, humorous and ironic, celebrating not the sublime but the everyday and transitory.

Later he drew and made comics, one for each stage of the journey. Comics 4 and 5 cover his journey to and through Millom.

Special event : Oliver East will be giving a free talk about his walk and  making live drawings at Hardknott on Track, the real ale pub, on the Station at Millom on the afternoon of Sat 14 March from 1pm.

And signing comics too!  

An exhibition of Oliver’s drawings is on show at Millom Discovery Centre till the 13 March 2015.