View allAll Photos Tagged pub
Pubs and Restaurants around East Yorkshire and the East Riding starting in Beverley near North Bar some will be in the Yorkshire Wolds.
Cool electric chandeliers at The Gilbert pub where I had lunch last week. As the exterior was quite down in the mouth, the interior decor was really amazing in contrast. Food was good too!
Now, I know what you're thinking, but let me explain. This is the men's toilets in a particularly non-descript pub near Great Portland Street, the Albany if you're interested in visiting. It appears to be a semi-naked woman dressed in some kind of military uniform (presumably the dress uniform rather than combat, but that's just a guess) mimicking pissing into a man's mouth with a beer bottle. In my day graffiti was limited to just "Fuck Off" or, if they were feeling lyrical, "Bryan Robson IS an injury" but I will never moan about falling standards again. I like the way the whole effect and hours of work has been enhanced by plonking a hand dryer in the middle of it - but health and safety must be paramount.
One of the local pubs in Holmfirth, North Yorkshire.
Just across the road from Compo and Norah's houses!
The Black Buoy pub in Wivenhoe.
Wivenhoe is a town and civil parish in north eastern Essex, England, approximately 3 miles (4.8 km) south east of Colchester. Historically Wivenhoe village, on the banks of the River Colne, and Wivenhoe Cross, on the higher ground to the north, were two separate settlements but with considerable development in the 19th century the two have merged.
At the 2001 census, the town had a population of over 7,221. The town's history centres on fishing, ship building, and smuggling.
Much of lower Wivenhoe is also a designated conservation area, with many streets being of particular architectural interest.
When it's time to go to the pub, it's time to go. Don't let monsoons, lakes, or pools of mud stop you.
'Inktense' watercolour pencils and wash on watercolour paper 10.5 x 29.7cms
Still getting to know my new 'Inktense' pencils...
...while enjoying an early evening pint in the Norfolk sunshine.
Left: Double Locks.
Middle: Exeter Ship Canal.
Right: Cross Country HST 43378 & 43239 head north with the 1S51 12.27 Plymouth going through to Glasgow Central. These long seven coach trains will end operations in mid September 2023. There were three HSTs passing while we were sat outside the pub in the patchy sun. This was 13.20 with the drabber green GWR four coach passing north at 13.45 and another XC going south at 13.52. I was fearing some pub punters would stroll along the path in the foreground but I got lucky.
The owner was found dead in his pub near Brittas Bay, Co Wicklow by gardaí on 19 March, 1996.
A well-known Wicklow publican, Tom had been counting up his St Patrick’s Day takings at Jack White’s Inn where he lived, when he was killed by pellets from a single close range shotgun blast.
His wife Catherine had told gardaí that she was awoken by someone “pressing her face to the pillow” and shouting at her for money.
When they arrived, they found Tom Nevin on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood.
It later emerged that about £14,600 - €16,500 currently, was taken from the pub and the Nevins’ car had been taken and was found later abandoned in Dublin. All signs pointed to a botched robbery.
Four years later, Catherine Nevin was on trial at Dublin Central Criminal Court, accused of both murdering her husband and soliciting three other men to murder him.
Mrs Nevin attempted to characterise her husband who was well liked in his community as a quiet, hard working man – as being a member of the IRA, gay and a drunkard.
On the prosecution side, it was alleged that Catherine Nevin had had affairs with a garda inspector, a judge and a convicted criminal and was said to have used her ”silken boudoir - den of sleaze” to “bed a bevy of sex-hungry men” while “plotting her husband’s murder”.
She was convicted and sentenced to life in prison and dubbed "The Black Widow"!
I had a delicious lunch in the very room yesterday and the staff were brilliant!! :)
Historic pub built in 1550. It's name comes from that of HMS White Bear, a war ship, which fought against the Spanish Armada, and was decommissioned in 1629. It's timbers were used to restore the above pub, following a fire which destroyed it.
The pub is named Volunteer Hotel because of its association with local volunteer firefighters. When the fire bell across the street rang, volunteers would gather and proceed on to the fire. Once their work was complete, they would meet at the hotel for refreshment. The hotel closed in 1928 and is now a private residence......Wikipedia
Darling Street, Balmain, Sydney
Nothing crazy going on here, but this is my very first shot of Rose & Crown. Of course there has to be a rogue wheelchair in the photo... it wouldn't be complete without one, lol. Thanks for looking.
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Currently sitting in pub in Bosham with a beer and my laptop editing my late mornings work. With the realisation that the undiscovered images of this very photographed village, lie right here in the pub.
The pub is a haven of warmth and comfort, its wooden beams darkened with age and history. A crackling log fire in the hearth casts flickering golden light across the room, illuminating the gleam of polished brass and the deep red upholstery of the well-worn chairs. The scent of burning wood mingles with the rich aroma of ale, filling the air with a sense of timeless contentment.
Seated by the window, I cradle a pint of amber ale, the glass cool against my fingertips. The first sip is smooth and full-bodied, a perfect complement to the comforting hum of quiet conversation around me. Outside, beyond the thick, wavy glass of the old window, the tide has drawn back to reveal glistening mudflats where wading birds pick their way through shallow pools. The sea air, heavy with salt, drifts in when the door swings open, mixing with the warmth inside.
The light flooding the sky, dusky with blacks and greys reflecting off the still water of the harbour. Boats, their masts gently swaying, rest in the shallow waters, their reflections shimmering with each ripple. Across the bay, the silhouette of Bosham church stands against the evening sky, its spire a timeless sentinel over the sleepy village.
I take another slow sip, sinking deeper into my chair, letting the moment stretch—content, warm, and utterly at peace.