The Best British Pub!

Along the brambly path, where the holly and blackberries grow, there is a place hidden away but not hard to find. Past rolling verdant hills and just beyond the overgrown bridge sits the most darling little pub. The building is old but cheerful, with a high peaked roof, green sash windows and adorned in a bright coat of white paint; it stands simple and strong. Like me the canal that runs along the patio seems spellbound, the water rolls by slowly- as if it too would like to stay here a little longer. Inky black letters on the front of the establishment proudly display the name, " The Three Horseshoes, Since 1535."

Everyone knows three is a magic number and this place is no exception. Inside it is warm, snug and low with wooden furniture and a friendly staff. The beer is plenty, and the food is just about as English as it gets.

Today I sat amid the pub with my grandparents, auntie, uncle, and cousin. Three generations in one place sharing a meal and spending what little time we get here- together.

I am the fourth generation to come to this pub. When my mum was little, she would come with her grandmother. I can imagine her with her sister playing along the canal just like me and my siblings did when we were children. As we all grow up and shift through time, traveling the world, moving away from each other, passing on from this life to the next, it is comforting to know that we all have this little pub. It is a touchstone for one another on earth. We enter these walls, and it is the memories that first greet us. The golden laughter we have shared here has stained the walls, soaked into the floorboards, and floated up through the chimney on a cold winter nights. The love here is in the bones of this building, just as it is in ours.