venta

So, last night. A drive home from work. A rapid rush round to get ready at home, before someone called to pick me up. A swift hurtle down the M40. A small, old pub in a reaonably sized Oxfordshire village. And then the dreaded happens: some of the blokes sitting peaceably round a table near the bar are wearing white. All white.

"Us ?" they say innocently, "we're only here for the cricket."

They're not, though. It's far more sinister. Under the table, there is a suggestion of bells. They are... morris men.

Actually, it was Long Crendon Morris, and they'd invited us out for the evening, so it was hardly a surprise. Us being my rapper team; being a tradition in exile, we have to associate with dubious types like morris men from time to time.

And it was actually quite a nice evening - warm enough to sit outside, and chat to people, with a bit of music going on, and occasional outbreaks of dancing. We played nicely for a while, and danced outside with the other teams... then eventually scampered back to our natural habitat - inside the pub.

Dancing rapper on a concrete car park is actually remarkably difficult - there's no "give" in the floor, it slows the dancers down and it feels like really hard work. Once inside, though, we're back on our own ground: sprung wooden floor, small space, both our musicians going full belt, and a cheering crowd by the bar. The ceiling is a little low, but nothing uncopable with.

Until, of course, I realise I'm required to jump over a sword. The sword sweeps down, and you jump or take the edge of it across your shins. At which point I was standing directly underneath one of the beams - with about an inch or two's clearance above my head. Yes, it is possible to jump without moving your head. Just.

Regular readers may have noticed that Pintwatch has hardly been making its opinions felt of late. Pintwatch has been sadly under the weather so far this year.

A fairly hefty chunk of my family is allergic (or possibly intolerant, I don't understand the difference) to alcohol. Some hardly ever drink, some not at all. It does seem to be hereditary - and often develops in the late twenties. So, earlier this year, I thought my time had come. Drinking even half a pint made me feel incredibly ill; more worryingly, I didn't actually like the idea of beer much any more. So, I hung up my tankard, and Pintwatch's fearsome investigative powers were put into mothballs.

Recent events, though, suggest that things are not so glum. The odd pint now and again seems to be OK, though I'm still not back on full drinking form. Whether this is permanent, or whether things will continue to head back to normal remains to be seen.

However. Pintwatch would like to make a ceremonial return by mentioning that the Red Lion, Chinnor, currently has Hartley's Cumbria Way as a guest beer, and very nice it is too. Light, and almost heathery in taste. It'd be a nice beer for a sunny afternoon. Pintwatch doesn't know the price, as it had its drink bought for it.