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Tag Archives: Bar wenching
If I should become a stranger, you know it would make me more than sad…
It’s my last day in Edinburgh, and it seems fitting that I’m spending most of it at my pub. For the afternoon I set up a wee office at a table, with my computer and my Eurail map and my … Continue reading →
Why I love Irish People, the sequel
After work on Sunday we were sitting having a pint, when an Irish couple we’d served during the day came back in. They bought us a pint, and then another one, and then invited us out for dinner. We declined … Continue reading →
Ode to My Pub
I am sitting in a pub in Bedford, England, having just consumed a microwaved fish and chips and a questionable pint. I placed my order at the bar, and my food materialized in front of me a few moments later, … Continue reading →
sweet home
This is where I live. I pay more rent than I’d like, than I would if I shared a flat with three or four other people, but mine is a two bedroom place that Lindsay owns, and … Continue reading →
remember your brolly.
Edinburgh Rule #1: Never leave your flat without an umbrella. Mine has orange polka dots. I was walking home last night from my second shift as Bar Wench Extraordinaire, when I saw an exitable man with a German accent pointing … Continue reading →
aasa, elsewhere. 