May I introduce you to our favourite hang-out, under-the-week, well-let's-get-a-drink, it's-Saturday-we-are-bored bar. The spot where we gather; where we start our evenings or end the early ones. This is the Picadilly Pub, which we have a hate-love relationship with, as we often consider never coming back but still end up landing there the week after.
The story goes back five or six years ago, when we were all slightly underage or just about barely legal drinkers. Somewhere between fifteen and sixteen years old, boys tend to feel like the strongest, but barely know anything. At this time, it’s cool to drink as a minor, the time when you can prove your courage through stuff like that. It was a time when we were sick of school and was looking for a new spot. A place for cold winter evenings and a place where we could feel like kings.
And there it was: The Picadilly Pub, an old Irish-looking pub in the middle of our little city, not to near to anyone who knows us, but we were still able to reach any point of attention fast enough. Perfect Match!
We all grew older and most of us started smoking which served as a bigger advantage. It was totally legal to smoke in there. This made it comfortable. Inside there’s foggy air, red seats, pints half-empty, different beers and funny people (a wide range of alcoholics from weirdos to funny guys).
But, the older I grew, the more I disliked it the same way, we liked it back then. Most of the people are not as funny as they used to be back then. Just because you now see how wrecked they really are. And since it is forbidden to smoke inside there, you can see how poor the whole stuff looks like. Nothing has changed in all that time.
And then the owner. An old lady that is really pissed off with her job. She never had a nice word for us in all that time. Never gave one more beer for free after a whole night of being too lazy to leave. Now last weekend, we were thrown out because it was already late. But we were thrown out, like she hated us. And this killed our so far, very funny evening. We swore to never go back to that bar, we all like better at heart.
Only four days later, we sat back in the same old Picadilly, with the same old waitress not liking us, wanting too much for her service and bad music. But as I said. It is a hate-love relationship.