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Although Caroline had never been a big pub-goer, she found the low rumble of conversation and the occasional c******g of glasses to be strangely comforting and relaxing. On the whole, she couldn’t stand background noise, but there was something about pubs that was different.
Pubs in London had an altogether different vibe. She’d rarely visited any of the pubs in and around Cricklewood. From what she could make out, they’d been either dive bars, extortionately priced gastropubs or even more extortionately priced craft beer houses made to cater for the growing hipster community. One of the many things she’d been glad to discover in Rutland was that the traditional British pub was alive and well — and few did it in greater style than the Wheatsheaf, just a stone’s throw from work and a s
