Blog Tracker
06-11-2017, 09:22
Visit the Called to the bar site (http://maltworms.blogspot.com/2017/11/the-links.html)
https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8stSrEdP9l8/Wfy836gNEjI/AAAAAAAADV8/p1KJqUwj8W8qXn6rg2uUo0kJWHlTO2R6gCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_4140.JPG (https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8stSrEdP9l8/Wfy836gNEjI/AAAAAAAADV8/p1KJqUwj8W8qXn6rg2uUo0kJWHlTO2R6gCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_4140.JPG)
The Links (http://www.linkshotelllandudno.co.uk/). I used to go for riding lessons at a stables opposite this pub when I was a kid. It has been here since 1898, but the stables went in the 1970s and a massive estate lolls and luxuriates where the horses once pranced, but the Links remains. This was a pub that was never on the circuit when I lived here or when I came back. It was too local perhaps, too manly, too boring in its beer choice (Lees (http://www.jwlees.co.uk/)) — but over the past few years I have been dropping in now and again and, on a recent visit for a family funeral, on the way into town for the wake, I dropped in and had a formidably refreshing MPA and later on the way back a pale lager from Regent (http://www.pivovar-regent.cz/), a brewery I once visited and thought ecclesiastical in its design. La Trappe, Moonraker and Manchester Star were also advertised, and, even though I was later told that the latter two were’t around, the choice (or the attempted choice) was a great example of how even my home town (where I grew up drinking Strongbow or lager top) has caught up with the times (it even has two breweries, Great Orme (http://www.greatormebrewery.co.uk/) and Wild Horse (http://wildhorsebrewing.co.uk/), located close to where my father tried to set up an engineering business when I was a kid — it failed, inevitably). As for the Links the floor around the mainly solidly wooden bar was tiled, there were blanquettes, as buttoned-up as a gin-soaked vicar silent in his obsession, a bit formulaic, taken from a catalogue, perhaps, a sense of the senselessness of suburbia in the surrounding drinking areas, Welsh being spoken (a rare sound in my home town), and ‘make it a Christmas Day to remember’ posters scattered about. However, as a hurricane (I think it might have been Brian) raged outside, the bar felt like a fortress of Monday evening solitude, as glasses gleamed and the chrome at the bar-top shone with a ghostly kind of light and the memory of my late sister-in-law swung back and forth like the wind-swept inn sign in Treasure Island. I will go back when I’m next in Llandudno (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Llandudno).
More... (http://maltworms.blogspot.com/2017/11/the-links.html)
https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8stSrEdP9l8/Wfy836gNEjI/AAAAAAAADV8/p1KJqUwj8W8qXn6rg2uUo0kJWHlTO2R6gCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_4140.JPG (https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8stSrEdP9l8/Wfy836gNEjI/AAAAAAAADV8/p1KJqUwj8W8qXn6rg2uUo0kJWHlTO2R6gCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_4140.JPG)
The Links (http://www.linkshotelllandudno.co.uk/). I used to go for riding lessons at a stables opposite this pub when I was a kid. It has been here since 1898, but the stables went in the 1970s and a massive estate lolls and luxuriates where the horses once pranced, but the Links remains. This was a pub that was never on the circuit when I lived here or when I came back. It was too local perhaps, too manly, too boring in its beer choice (Lees (http://www.jwlees.co.uk/)) — but over the past few years I have been dropping in now and again and, on a recent visit for a family funeral, on the way into town for the wake, I dropped in and had a formidably refreshing MPA and later on the way back a pale lager from Regent (http://www.pivovar-regent.cz/), a brewery I once visited and thought ecclesiastical in its design. La Trappe, Moonraker and Manchester Star were also advertised, and, even though I was later told that the latter two were’t around, the choice (or the attempted choice) was a great example of how even my home town (where I grew up drinking Strongbow or lager top) has caught up with the times (it even has two breweries, Great Orme (http://www.greatormebrewery.co.uk/) and Wild Horse (http://wildhorsebrewing.co.uk/), located close to where my father tried to set up an engineering business when I was a kid — it failed, inevitably). As for the Links the floor around the mainly solidly wooden bar was tiled, there were blanquettes, as buttoned-up as a gin-soaked vicar silent in his obsession, a bit formulaic, taken from a catalogue, perhaps, a sense of the senselessness of suburbia in the surrounding drinking areas, Welsh being spoken (a rare sound in my home town), and ‘make it a Christmas Day to remember’ posters scattered about. However, as a hurricane (I think it might have been Brian) raged outside, the bar felt like a fortress of Monday evening solitude, as glasses gleamed and the chrome at the bar-top shone with a ghostly kind of light and the memory of my late sister-in-law swung back and forth like the wind-swept inn sign in Treasure Island. I will go back when I’m next in Llandudno (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Llandudno).
More... (http://maltworms.blogspot.com/2017/11/the-links.html)