The Black Bull

This is a picture of the Black Bull in Aintree. I used to have a quiet drink there on a Sunday morning, when I should have been at Church. You could buy knock-off stuff in the Black Bull - if you were quick. Men with sharp faces would slip in, open a bag, suitcase or whatever they had; money would change hands and they’d equally quickly disappear into the night. I imagine it was fairly common in most pubs - especially in the 80’s when times were tough. I never bought anything, but I did have a pint there that I can still taste. It was terrible. A pint of Double Diamond. The jingle still rings in my head. Its sweet, chemical taste still taints my tongue. Some jingles never go away: ‘A Double Diamond works wonders, works wonders, works wonders. A Double Diamond works wonders, so drink some today.’ I wish the taste would. This is also the pub my Grand-dad stood outside waiting for my mother that night of the blitz. Behind it is the Aintree Institute where the Beatles played.