Local

Image by Nikola Jovanovic

local noun [C] (PUB)

UK
a pub near to where a person lives, especially if they often go there to drink

We’d been to a funeral and, after the afters, the three of us decided to go for a pint in what used to be our local. In our youth we’d drank there on at least a biweekly basis, if biweekly means twice a week. (It doesn’t, I’ve just consulted the dictionary for a second time. Semiweekly.) It was early evening a few weeks back, and with the hope of a long hot summer to come the tables outside the bar were packed. Inside it was a different story.

After buying our drinks we could have sat anywhere but instinctively we were drawn to the half oval nook at the far end of the bar where we’d always sat. From here we could view the evening sunshine refracting through the crown glass windows. Not quite the same now that you can see it clearly instead of through clouds of tobacco smoke, but still one of life’s little pleasures. It also gave us clear sight of the door should anyone we knew come in although the chances of that happening were slim. Even if they did, they too would as if on autopilot drift up to the nook at the far end of the bar where we’d always sat.

Out for a walk one Saturday afternoon a few months ago I fancied a beer and went into a bar which I’d walked (and cycled) past many times but never been in. It wasn’t so much a time warp but simply that I’d walked into a proper Edinburgh bar, of which it feels remarkably few remain. No gimmicks, just a bar selling beer, wine, spirits, a good selection of all three, with tables and chairs at which to enjoy them. Friendly staff and the only sound, the happy chatter of contented drinkers. What else do you need? If they do sell bar snacks, no one buys them.

I’ve been back three times since, most recently yesterday, Easter Sunday. I like it for several reasons. It’s a 15-20 minute walk from here so strictly speaking, not a local ‘local’. That timeframe works in both directions: working up a thirst on the way there, sobering up a bit on the way back. And it’s along the road from a favourite second hand bookshop. I can swing in there on the way and find something to read first. Yesterday Edinburgh: An Illustrated Architectural Guide by Charles McKean, which I reckon they had under-priced by about £12.

But most of all I like the bar because it does feel like a local, a local with character, as opposed to a local full of characters, a welcoming place with a relaxed atmosphere. I’ve only been there four times and already I see the same faces, sitting in the same places which gives it a sense of continuity if not community - to be honest, the last thing I want is people striking up a conversation with me.

And I’ve found a seat that I like. Naturally it was the first seat that I found that first Saturday but you can’t start chopping and changing where you sit in a local. There are a couple of barstools at a shelf by the window from where I have a perfect view of the both the bar and the outside world. Often the space at my feet is shared with a border collie but I can live with that. The position of the stool also gives me clear sight of the door should anyone I know come in although the chances of that happening are slim.

As I left the bar yesterday, blnking into the late afternoon sunshine, I almost collided with a couple who were hovering on the corner of the street outside. Pointing to another bar on the opposite side of the street about 50 metres away, I heard the woman say “but that one has recently been refurbished”.

I take a step backwards, hold open the door of my new local and say, “But this one is better.” They thank me and walk in.