1678. Wed 17/1/24: The Rising Sun, Slip End, Luton

Beer: Farrs Pale 4.2%

At the corner of the bar, right next to the front door to Front Street, the Rizza fireplace isn’t in the right place is it? Still, when on the go it’s nice to sit next to: if there’s room, if one is the only person – in either bar – who want to do that. Because of its position right inside the door – sitting next to the fire isn’t an option in the public bar.

I’m in the lounge, as is my wont. I’m the only one in on arrival so get to sit fireside.

Quite soporific it is… I’ve been at work today, and only had three hours (or less) sleep after the Bobbers bus back from Bolton last night. Got Private Eye, but can’t really concentrate on it.

Fire’s very nice, mind. We’re in a cold snap. Not as bitter as Olomouc six weeks ago, but pretty bloody nippy. S’alright – if we get a decent overnight frost it won’t be muddy underfoot on my walk back through the park in twelve hours time.

Alexa plays the sounds of the 60s, or is it the 70s? I’m so bloody tired.

Holiday any minute (Cádiz and Seville).

In the meantime neither Mr Fosters, nor the motor buddies are in. I sit alone, reading the Eye, not taking it in, looking into the fire and listening the Alexa’s output – which has shifted to the 80s.

1563. Wed 14/6/23: The Rising Sun, Slip End, Luton

Beer: Farr’s Brewery Golden 4.1%

Bright sultry late afternoon, early evening, at the Rizza. The old boy is back in Blighty, so I’m back in SE tonight. I’ll make my way back there in a bit; in the meantime I’ll have a couple here… though it would be quite nice to get out of these walking boots and into me Slip End scruffs.

Back at the Rizz, it’s quite quiet in the posh bar and not that many in the public. Those who have made it create the regular midweek hubbub: effin’ and a-jeffin’ and admitting that, yeh, as it turns out, he DID know his mate’s missus… a long time ago mind, twenty years or more. They go out for fags and the room gets quieter. Loses something, maybe – gains a modicum of serenity, perhaps.

In their stead the sounds of the 80s, replayed by an obliging Alexa, gain prominence. A Town Called Malice is evocative of Wembley, the track by Phil effin’ Collins ain’t.

Just me and quick-fire three Fosters man in the Lounge. I play Hayday on me tablet and fire off an email to the solicitor.

They come back from their fags and fill the front bar with bawdy noise, I’m two thirds thru pint two and contemplating leaving.

Premier League fixtures out tomorrow… effin’ ‘eck  

1187. Wed 1/12/21: The Rising Sun, Slip End, Luton

Beer: Farrs Hustle 4.3%

Walked from Wigmore (after a first day off work, productive morning that fizzled out by noon). It’s a long walk. The first beer is very nice after that.

Early evening is very quiet down the Rizza, but none the worse for it. Festive decorations, though still too early, are nicely low key.

I spend a first pint, alone and introspective, in the posh bar, flicking through Czech holiday snaps on me camera… I’ll spend some time tomorrow logging and filing them away.

In the meantime, presumably, Alexa is playing Hits of the 90s at a volume it would be churlish to bemoan.

The old boys in the public bar are in jovial mood: “I’m going back on the sixth” bemoans one – another tells his mate, Gary, “we’re digging holes, drinking beer, Gary, where would you rather be?” Didn’t catch whether Gary could think of anywhere.

My Dad calls, he’s not joining me, he’s got a fire on the go; it’ll be nice and warm and soporific in the lounge at home then. I’ll have another, then nick off.

1226. Wed 2/2/22: The Rising Sun, Slip End, Luton

Beer: Farrs Golden 4.1%

Last day at Farley (Covid Test Centre), again (we previously closed down in the summer); test numbers have dwindled to risible levels.

Back in Slip End. Sat in semi-darkened posh bar at the Rizz. The public bar seems well populated, largely by a group of a half dozen or so young mechanic types – full of lighthearted/sweary banter and calling the barmaid “darlin’”. When they nick out to the back, presumably to have a fag, it’s all very quiet. There only appears to be one other fella in the bar, and he and the barmaid talk enthusiastically about motorbikes.

I sit supping at me pint. It’s fine.

Mechanics return. Banter is back. It’s colourful alright, but it’s delivered in what seems close to a traditional, almost rural, Lutonian burr. It’s an accent dying out fast.

Understated decorations announce that 6 Nations Rugby is coming to the pub soon. To me, the beginning of that tournament heralds that Spring is on the way. Good.

Moustache day CXLV.

Have a second pint during which I go through the Covid Test logbook and feel faintly nostalgic about the whole sorry exercise. I’ve really enjoyed working with my rag-tag band of colleagues. Strange days indeed.

1579. Wed 26/7/23: The Rising Sun, Slip End, Luton

Beer: Farrs’ Farr Apart 4.8%, Farrs’ Golden 4.1%

46 bus, from town. Private Eye edition 1603.

Farr Apart not great. Astringent to the point of pre-vinegarel. The Golden is considerably better.

Mr Fosters in, for his three Amber Nectars, then out.

Public bar is noisy, but don’t bother me.

A group of middle-aged ladies descend on the lounge bar, a half dozen so, joined presently by three or four more. They’re in for Rose wine (or coffee) and for bar snacks in lieu of a proper menu at this time of day. Their banter is refreshing refined, lacking the effin’ and jeffin’ of the blokes in the other bar. No football chat. Singing voice appreciation gets an airing… makes a change, both from the other bar and the normal Wednesday early evening clientele in here – Fosters and I sitting in isolated silence.

Nurse a pint for the best part of an hour, my notes suggest; they fail to suggest way. They tail off after documenting that I eventually found the ladies chat vaguely annoying… moreover that I urgently needed piss.

1353. Wed 20/7/22: The Rising Sun, Slip End, Luton

Beer: Farr Brew Bitter 4.2%, Farr Brew Golden 4.4%

It’s still too hot, though we’ve just had a heavy shower. All too brief. It’s still too hot.

The Wednesday early evening sun doesn’t change much – it’s nice and quiet in the posh bar while the public bar hosts a raucous company, banter and laughing and that. Around a dozen in there, I’d suggest.

The barmaid is new. She’s a livewire. The locals seem to like her, and vice versa. I sit on me tod, alone in the posh, as is my wont – the least qualified to write of the tight local dynamic of this tight quasi-rural community boozer. This was Ray and Pearl’s pub – Brian Swain’s pub – the locals in the other bar’s pub. I’m just (occasionally) visiting.

Still, y’know, nice to be back in Slip End – nice to be out of LBC (Guantanamo) orange, and back in civvies.

The beer is decent – unpolished. I’ll stay for another before nicking off. Pint two is Golden, not Bitter. I ordered Golden first time round, not Bitter, but was served Bitter. Not Golden. A bit of confusion. No harm done.

The Golden is significantly better than the Bitter.

1554a. Wed 17/5/23: The Rising Sun, Slip End, Luton

Beer: Farr Lock In 4.5%

Family curry. It’s a pleasant evening, made more so by the fact that all the football tension has gone for now, with the Hatters through to the play-off final in a couple of weeks’ time. Before which, things will have reignited again.

TPK’s already in the posh bar. It seems a good choice; aesthetically, I prefer the nonposh bar, but it can be a bit blokey. Me and TPK are the only ones in the posh bar, so I don’t feel too out of place in my suit, which I decided to wear for no reason this morning.

TPK gives me a tub of shaving soap for my birthday. We discuss and wonder why badger hair is used for shaving brushes, and I talk about bus timetables. 

1375. Wed 6/9/22: The Rising Sun, Slip End, Luton

Beer: Farrs Brew Hustler 4.3%

To Slip End to see me Dad. Drop the car at the family abode and then he accompanies me down the pub, which is nice.

He talks and I listen. He talks, as he tends to talk, about his travels – both upcoming, but then delving back into the archives of Argentina… then, rather touchingly, to his honeymoon in Devon getting on for sixty years ago now. It’s difficult to think of parents, much younger than I am now… difficult, and a bit ticklish.

The old boy is on a journey, forever on a journey – when he’s back in Slip End he’s busy organising the next trip: merely waiting here in the sidings until signals turn green and he chuffs off again. Quite poignant and poetic… I’ve almost certainly dumped a load of mawkish schmaltz on it. Sorry.

The old boy is drinking too slowly. He’s got a third of a pint left… shall I get another in for myself? I don’t. I should’ve.

On the way back he calls on my sister and asks if she’ll do his ironing in a way that seems like it’s a command. A bit rude, really.

Get on a lot better with him these days – he’s a very decent fellow – but the genetic tendency towards occasional oafishness is still there.

1089. Wed 30/6/21: The Rising Sun, Slip End, Luton

Beer: Farr’s Lock In 4.5%, Farr’s Chief Jester 3.6%

Another Wednesday, another visit to the Rizza. I get there a half hour or so before me father.

I’ve walked in from town, through the oppressively muggy heat. I’m also cut up a bit by brambles, having taken an ill-advised “short-cut” around the running track in Stockwood. There is no short-cut; there is but hundreds of little cuts.

Farr’s Lock In has been of variable quality. Today it’s not great; somewhat astringent. When Dad arrives we switch to the Chief Jester, which is fresher/far nicer.

DGK is in good form. He talks of pasta (tonight’s meal), of his renewed appreciation for Italy in the 1980s and of the time he went to Zambia.

Tonight’s pasta dish is delicious.

1369. Wed 24/8/22: The Rising Sun, Slip End, Luton

Beer: Farr Brew Them’s The Breaks 4.4%

Nice day, today, before it gets silly hot after lunch. At Slip End later – and the regular pre-dinner date pop down the Rizza. Not REALLY in the mood, frankly – so arm meself with the Ipad and the Wine Society’s latest promotional pamphlet entitled “A taste of Italy” (picked up from the kitchen table at my father’s abode).

Them’s The Breaks isn’t great.

I take half-hearted snaps on me phone.

The Sun is quite quiet, in both bars, which suits me.

I take a couple of pints and write notes and prod away at my device. I play chess.

The hot sultry summer rolls on and on. It’s getting boring.

The Wine Society literature fails to inspire.

I pack my ragtag backpack up with the devices and books and brochures I’ve brought – and head off to the old boy’s house in expectation of a roast chicken dinner.