Paul Beasley

I was in my favourite Oxford city centre pub, the Royal Blenheim, on Tuesday lunch time. It was almost deserted, but there was a couple in there who I took to be good old British real ale folkie types. The guy was wearing denim and sported a grey ponytail. I managed to suppress the Armstrong and Miller reaction and ignored them.

I was about to leave when they got up to go. The landlord asked them where they were off to next and was informed in strong American accents they were going back to their hotel to pack for their journey back home to Colorado. At this point the American guy blurted out