Walking inside, you’re hit with a warm, golden glow. The ceilings are low, the fireplace is crackling, and the walls are covered in old photographs and dusty trinkets. It’s not a shiny, modern bar. It’s more like your gran’s living room—if your gran had a fireplace from the 1600s and served ale.
You’ll see wooden beams you can actually touch, worn smooth by hundreds of hands. The floor slopes in that charming, “I’ve been standing here for centuries” way. Honestly, it feels more like a time machine than a pub. You half expect to see a monk walk in ordering a latte.
