Guinness and Jameson, together again.
A brief moment of relaxation at Nanny O'Briens, with spouse and a re-broadcast UEFA match on the tube.
It was also a celebration of sorts. M's leg (broken at the knee) has now healed enough to crutch about without wearing that corset-like, steel/velcro/nylon immobilizing brace thing. Thus, without having one leg forced straight, our dining-out options have exploded. Previously, we were limited to places with booth seating, so the leg had a place to rest without being a hazard to everyone.
Precious few indie pubs are good for that: they may have the right seats, but not many. And the after-work crowds make it a raw gamble.
So to play it safe and get booths and ample floor-space, we've been stuck with wretched "family style" chain restaurants in the suburbs. And after suffering for weeks with all that gutless, milktoast terror with uniformed waitress drones with PLEASE, KILL ME etched into their lifeless eyes as they prattle on about their special taco salad which had been shipped in huge bulk quantities from some corporate hive in Joplin, Missouri, available at a special discount for senior citizens, the recently lobotomized, and other fans of FOX News, etc.........
A newly bendable knee means we can get back to reality.
Hence, a proper pub. And a proper pint. I couldn't quite see which countries were playing in the match, but in that comfortable moment, it didn't matter. Cheers.