The day is cold, the pies are hot, and the Traveller’s Call is busy enough in a quiet sort of way. Ale sits slowly going flatter than flat. Old timers sit going over the same old ground, again and again. Someone hacks out a tune on the fiddle. The world passes by slowly, but quicker than you realise. And one day you rock up and there is one stool empty that should be filled, and you wonder where the days go.
Paddy Dobson
9th February 2023