Ah the Nook

Today is Christmas Eve evening. Its 24 degrees C according to my computer (not so hot for Sydney). I have spent the day bathing in sunshine (and buying a fridge). But I have to say that for all the bikini clad girls and suntans in the world, it doesn't yet feel like Christmas. It might be the lack of freezing cold weather, it might be the absence of 8 hour traffic queues on the M1, or it might be the fact that I haven't bought my Christmas presents yet - but it doesn't quite feel like Christmas.

After some thought today, I have come to realise what it is that my life is missing. What I need to complete that Christmas circle. Its at times like this that I long for that great Holmfirth institution ... the Nook!

For those not in the know, the Nook (aka the Rose and Crown) is a bit of a Yorkshire legend. And here it is for your delectation in all its glory (don't get too overwhelmed, it actually looks a lot grottier than this in real life):

As a baby, I spent many an hour here (apparently) wedged under one of the scarred, battered and beer stained wooden benches, happily sleeping away whilst my parents supped on the glorious (filtered back) real ale. Ah the sweet nectar!

When I was a small child, I vividly remember my first sip of beer (in the Nook, where the pool room now stands). How I hated the vile fiery liquid (if only it had stayed that way - I would be a millionaire!).

During my teenage years, my Dad abandoned the Nook, claiming that it had been lost to undesirable local druggies and underage drinkers, reminiscing about the time that the Nook was the only place around where you would see a workman in his scruffy overalls sitting next to an accountant (or more probably an alcoholic).

At this point in the story alter egos will be assumed to preserve annonymity.

During my underage drinking years, the Nook became a haven. A place where my obligatory friend (lets call him "The Artist", the one that had more facial hair than the rest of us) could get served, whilst the rest of us cowered in the corner for fear of discovery. There is even a facebook group dedicated to those who had their first ever alcoholic beverage in the smoke filled air of that great building.

Eventually, as we came of age another of my good friends (lets call him "The Nurse" (followed years later by "The Artist") got a job there and spent 3 years observing the fruit machines (reading the fruit machine manuals) and emptying them of their wares at the end of the night, and we spent 3 years trying to empty the bar for free. Those were the good years!

Now the Nook is much as it was. The management has cleaned up the clientele significantly, though you can still find some of the underage drinkers chancing their luck. Over the bar hangs a cast iron rotating spirits dispenser that my Dad made for the place when he used to own a blacksmiths shop back in the 80s and that "The Nurse" used to complain about regularly for releasing Captain Morgans all over his head (I believe there is still a poker by one of the open fires made by him too). It still smell of stale beer and Seabrooks Crisps.

If you go there when its not busy, there is always a dog or two to pet, and a pickled onion or bag of pork scratchings  behind the bar for sampling (as well a some good real ale).

We tend not to frequent the place much nowadays as the gang and I are scattered across the globe, except at those times when we are all back in the 'firth, such as Christmas Eve. Hence the nostalgia.

Around about this time on Christmas Eve, we would be gathering (The Nurse, The Artist, The Rock Star, the Sergeant Major, The City Worker and I) - the only time that I can walk into a pub and expect a drink on the table waiting (assuming I am not first) for me. We would spend some time discussing how events over the last year had transpired. The conversation would go a little like this: 

"Alright mate?"

"Yeah, I got you a pint of Kronenburg"

"Cheers [drinks] ... its Carlsberg isn't it?"

"Yeah ... its cheaper"

This has always perplexed my other half who always asks me about how my friends are getting on, and about their relationships. I always answer - I have no idea about their relationships. I still don't understand why she would expect us to discuss all of that boring rubbish, when we still haven't concluded the argument on whether 50 midgets would beat a lion in a fight?

We would then proceed to spend most of the night avoiding people we went to school with. Either those who had never left the town, telling you how there was no point in leaving Holmfirth as there is nothing out there (always reminds me of the Arctic Monkeys song "Vampires", or some boring idiot telling you about successful they are as a London Banker and how you could never possible earn as much as they do (why do these guys think that you care?). 

Then we would get slowly drunk, do the beer salute (demonstrated kindly by the Rock Star - below) a few times, and stumble home, swearing at the local Indian Takeway which astonishingly isn't open at 3am on Christmas day (which we alway forget from the previous year).

Unfortunately tonight, I will have to make do with Coopers Pale Ale, Bundaberg Rum and coke, and watching the sunset whilst the boats manouvre around Sydney harbour with the lovely Lucy.... I guess its not so bad.

 

P.s. I did have a picture of all of the Rock Star, the Nurse, and the One That Got Away all pulling moonies in the Nook doorway, but I thought it a bit blue for publication.