PB and I are just back from grabbing a single nightcap after dinner at the pub next door. I would have had another and perhaps even had a nibble to eat. However, as soon as we rolled in they started to shut down.

For the sake of clarity, let me give you a quick run done of the layout of this once inaccessible pub.Two entry points: one now flat with heavy double doors leading to two doors, one to the gaming lounge and the main bar which is also accessible via steps onto the street. The other door leads down a carpeted and tactiled ramp to the bistro and a second bar. from the bistro you can go up two stairs direct to the main bar or outside via stairs only to smoking areas. So, the only accessible seating with the accessible toilet is in the bistro.

So with that background; the closing litany. Kitchen first after a cursory, offer to order now soon after banging of pots and pans as if we weren’t there.  Then the bar essentially as soon as the bargirl (whom we know, of sorts)  have poured our first drink. This  without the obligatory  last drinks call. Then the music went off, the televisions while people were still watching which made the guy watching nervous enough to swallow down the food and leave, looking sheepish. PB sculled the half glass of his first red down and we went to leave. After PB pulled himself up the carpeted ramp I discovered they had locked us in. Not by a sign but by butting the chair against the door. Mr Sad Manager let us out and seemed to want thanking for doing so.

Leaving aside the treatment, the key thing to know with this story is this. We didn’t turn up at 2am on a Tuesday morning in the middle of a sleepy country town. We were in the pub at 8:45 pm on a Sunday night in an supposedly bustling metropolis.

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