Earl Marshall

Whenever you hear in the news about the number of pubs closing down in Britain, the amount and rate seem so bafflingly large you wonder how there are any places left. However, simply wandering around any neighbourhood will make you realise how most of this is just scaremongering. Pubs are everywhere.
The Earl Marshall stands on a corner up in the crumbling outer regions of Earle Road, where swathes of terraces are being demolished by professionals and drunken idiots alike. Yes, I’m referring to me. You have no idea how satisfying it is tearing a brick wall down with your bare hands.
The pub looks rough from the outside (don’t they all) but inside it is a friendly local tavern that smells sickeningly of incense and everybody knows everybody else’s name, because chances are it’s just Dave. I’ve never looked over my shoulder so much.
This pub receives a special commendation for being the only place ever where the barmaid said ‘enjoy your drink.’ It was only Guinness, love. Now you’re being too friendly. What’s the catch?