Saturday pub
This is going to be an attempt to regularly put up some words on a pub (or bar) recently visited, an impressionistic approach perhaps, a chance to write about a pub that has left its mark on my soul
Ma Egerton’s, Liverpool, Saturday lunchtime
There is tiling on the floor around the semi-hexagonal bar counter, a kind of foreshore lapping against the wooden floor, while the gleam of a brass hand-railing smiles like an eager child and is held on by what looks like a row of elephants’ heads. There are coloured glass panels in the gantry, while glasses ready for action sit below on shelves. Look around the main bar — compact but cosy — and there is a glade of wooden fittings, in the midst of which lurks a TV screen (lower league football, Notts Co vs Chesterfield). The music is relatively loud (thumping bass), matched by the steady rhythm of the voices of women (glasses of wine, G&T, champagne) sitting on the banquettes lining the wall. Two cask beers, otherwise keg Guinness, John Smith, Amstel while a rather delicious warm savoury aroma flits about in the bar, possibly the lobscouse for which the pub is famous. There is a lounge to the left off the hallway of the main entrance, and as I stand at the bar (to the right), a man next me at bar (bald, pink) looks at his phone with the sound on. Middle aged men and women, best trainers, warm coats, sparkly handbags, are the main clientele. My Coach House Brewery 5% pale ale is served in a Thwaites Wainwright glass but it has an easy going presence on the palate. This has a totally different mood than what I am used to in the pubs I visit, but there is an electricity about it that gives me enjoyment. Music from the 1980s is now being played, Girls on Film, Simon Le Bon’s irritating vocals. Next up, ’You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off you’. Man leans on bar with elbow in a puddle of beer. I think of the potency of cheap music, and how sometimes our emotions are stirred not by grand gestures of literature or art but instead simplistic swipes of music can stir the soul. Three men enter and come to the bar, leaning on elbows, feet on the brass rail at the bottom, hand palms down on the counter, drink their beers. Temptation from Heaven 17 is now playing (and it stays in my head over the weekend). Horse racing has replaced the football on the TV, while another man at the bar seems to be doing gentle exercises for his legs. This is a pub where you come in for the energy that people and pints provide, whether with friends before heading to the Empire Theatre or sitting quietly and reading, or as I did write and write and write.
