The Hog and Barrow, London, March 13, 2008
It was a pretty typical English pub, of the old school variety: less flashing lights and techno and more dark wood and homebrewed beer.
Oh, and there were two women sitting at a table, as far away from the bar as they could get. It had been a very long, entirely fruitless day, and Harriet was exhausted, emotionally and mentally and physically. Not that she was letting it show.
She looked dubiously at the glass in front of her. "I'm not sure I want to drink something called Winkle's Old Peculiar, no matter how long they've been brewing it for."
Oh, and there were two women sitting at a table, as far away from the bar as they could get. It had been a very long, entirely fruitless day, and Harriet was exhausted, emotionally and mentally and physically. Not that she was letting it show.
She looked dubiously at the glass in front of her. "I'm not sure I want to drink something called Winkle's Old Peculiar, no matter how long they've been brewing it for."