I understand there is a non-alcohol bar called a "sober bar". Cool name. It feels like a regular bar, but its tender has little need to shout: “You’re cut off!” Until I met a certain Aussie in London, England, I had no desire to consume alcoholic drinks.
On a beautifully sunny day by the River Thames, north bank, I exercised my 35mm still camera gear and noticed an older gentleman exercising full 35mm still camera gear. He too was clicking away, firing at and across the river. I figured the gent was Australian since he bore a faint resemblance to Crocodile Dundee -- the match was in the hat.
We soon synced and started talking.
“Fancy going for a pint?”
I could not refuse. (For this round I’d skip the replacement drink: ginger ale.)
We walked to a pub that sat just across the street from St. Paul’s Cathedral. Sir Christopher Wren’s mighty architectural masterpiece would stand overlooking my first serious foray into beer.
My mate brought a couple of pints from the bar to this simple waiting Canadian lad. During our table talk I sipped a brand I’ve long forgotten, if I even knew what it was then. (As noted in chalk on the sandwich board outside, the pub sold a fine Canadian brand, Molson; in that case spelled as “Molsen”.)
After depleting the drink by a mere two centimetres, I thought through the haze of suds: “Why are the overhead quartz lights streaking?”