There used to be a Mallard Brewery in Nottingham, so called because the chap that ran it was called Phil Mallard. I prefer "fill mallard" but it's close. Sadly, the brewery is no more. However, there is a shop not far away that sells a decent selection of local craft ales and my good friend Duck Holiday, together with his pal The Duck Landlord, will be along there presently to see what they can find.
In truth, the place still looks something of a building site. It would be nice if the contractors had taken away all of the paint pots, rolls of paper and dustsheets, but perhaps one day somebody might see fit to do that.
This notwithstanding, there will be a quiet pint tonight, followed by a number of noisy ones. While it would be nice to have a bed to sleep in, it may well be that some of us may be past caring by that time. The bed is, at present, serving the purposes of a depository for a vast number of books and a good deal of other detritus that it less useful.
