Sometimes too often I find I didn't take the pic to set up the thing I want to ramble on about. Like the outside of Churchill's on Rue De l'Euyer in Brussels. So check the link for internet pics.
TLDR:
G and I were standing against a building, mostly out of the light rain while the girls shopped in H&M and Lush. TBH, I was glad for the interlude and a chance to people watch. It was early afternoon and we'd already had beers and lunch and more beers so when G asked if I wanted to get a beer while the girls shopped I said no. I didn't have room for one. He grinned and said I was out of practice, I said mostly I'm nearly out of my fifties so.
Then he said it was an English Pub around the corner so...
We pushed off and waded into the Pl. de la Monnaie flowing with shoppers. We, like just more than half the people I observed, were wearing masks on the street, as required if not enforced. Inside shops, masks were enforced and inside restaurants and bars, your vaccination status was confirmed by scanning a QR code on your phone. This usually happened at the door but sometimes you were seated first... que sera, sera.
Upon entering the bar I heard the sounds of a futbol match piped over the pub's speakers and every face in the bar was turned towards the wall-mounted TVs like flowers tracking the sun. I noticed English pint glasses on the tables and the young man who rushed up to check our vax status greeted us in genuine English accented English. A tension I didn't realize was there suddenly eased. <sigh>
Then I noticed the taps were all Belgian beer and I smiled in surrender. I try not to let perfect be the enemy of good...enough. The barman acknowledged our mild disappointment at not finding English bitter ale on tap but he pointed to a sizeable selection of bottles which were the real thing. By that I mean not just the usual lineup of English beer exported to the states.
I quickly noted the Bishop's Finger and said I'll have that one. Lol, what a purely perverse name! G had talked of a pub of that name he really enjoyed while visiting Canterbury and I always chided him he shouldn't take my grandkids in there. There wasn't two empty seats on the first floor so with our opened bottles and proper pint glasses we headed upstairs. The top was nearly full as well but we grabbed a two top against the back wall that didn't have the best view of any TV. That was fine. I began to look around.
The place was a decent replica of an English pub but there were some obvious giveaways. I wasn't so much bothered by the disco ball suspended from the ceiling as I was by the fake bookshelf. The books were obvious props and well, I thought @russann would be scandalized!
Another discordant note was the complete lack of groaning, jeering, or cheering. While the crowd was attentive, it was far too subdued for real futbol fans. I couldn't clearly see a TV but I thought I heard the match end at Liverpool 6 nil. There wasn't even a groan of disgust. Most patrons quickly finished their beers, I noticed many were drinking the vilely named and delicious Bishop's Finger, and left.
Shortly the young man who'd greeted us at the door came up and began clearing glasses and wiping off the tables. When he got to us, I mentioned the patrons didn't seem very happy at how the match ended. "I'm fucking delighted" he crowed. Authentic.
