Attracted by the promise of the only grade 1 listed toilets in a pub in the country, this pub didn't disappoint. I managed to take a couple of photos: the warmth of the decor was reflected in the blokes that didn't beat me to a pulp for being a weird southerner. They smiled at the camera instead whilst washing their gnarled scouse hands. I had been a bit surprised by the brusqueness of some of the people I had spoken to but this pub (and later in the somewhat more downmarket and undecorative Ye Crack [there's not a joke anyone could do that hasn't been done already is my guess] where John Lennon used to drink with his first wife) buoyed my spirits and re-assured my inate sense of the 'right' kind of liverpudlian stereotype.
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