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“Does anyone fancy dropping by The Reading Rooms on the way home.” asked Mark. The golf was over; I’d disgraced myself again. Maybe I needed to start reading about how I should be playing.

Three of us eagerly raced there, because these were no ordinary reading rooms for intellectuals, but the microest of pubs for pissheads.

The tiny former high street florist, little more than 10 feet wide, a corridor no less, was the brainchild of local microbrewer Farr Brew. Far out! Atmosphere convivial, the beer delicious.

Pegasus was our beer of choice, and the time, like Pegasus, really flew.

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