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The German Beer Garden
Tall trees sway and rustle in the breeze; discs of sunlight dance across the well-manicured gravel floor; and, on the air, a hum of quiet conversation. The view through the surrounding woodland is of summer haze in a green-sided valley. There is a powerful smell of roasting pork and wood smoke from an open grill. On the table, newly delivered stone mugs brim with cool, fresh beer. Birds are singing.
The British Beer Garden
Wasps buzz around the hatchback-sized industrial waste bin, over by the wooden fence with its dropped slats. The concrete paving slabs under foot are littered with cigarette ends, knotted crisp packets and squashed chips. The remains of steak and ale pie sit on the next table over, as they have done for the last two hours. A tattered white Bacardi-branded parasol is threatening to break from its moorings in a gathering gale. The ashtray on your table overflows.