Against all expectations (well, my expectations), the village pub is still open, with new landlord Paul having painted the exterior the colour of vanilla ice cream. He’s installed a pool table and put lights around the dart-board. What’s next? Spittoons? Plans to serve food have been shelved; if you’re lucky there may be a couple of sandwiches on the bar. The Black Swan is reverting to what it used to be: an unassuming local boozer, where men (mostly men) can slag off foreigners, immigrants, women, their neighbours, previous landlords, and - in their brief absense - anyone who goes to the loo or nips outside for a fag. Paul has success with pubs (if you don’t know, he will immediately tell you… including the weekly takings of his other pubs, in Boston, Lincs), and the assumption, amongst Asselby locals, is that he knows what he’s doing. Time will tell.
Licenced today: the canal basin at Skipton...
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