WE don’t really get out that much these days. Sad b******s, huh?
There was a time, before we had children, that we’d head out on a whim to a local hostelry for, maybe, a pint or two and a game of pool (I happen to be a pretty good Guinness drinker)
However, once the children came along we got out of the habit of going out so much.
Don’t get me wrong. We were very fortunate indeed in having willing babysitters on tap, what with his parents living next door to us. Living next to one’s in-laws would be a nightmare for many of my friends, but it’s always been an absolute pleasure for us. The nightmarish boot is most probably on the other foot!
Though we probably took advantage of their kindness and generosity far more often than we should have, it was usually for a purpose: a wedding, someone’s “big” birthday, that sort of thing.
For a while we both played in a band. At that time we had only one child, but we did land maw ’n’ paw-in-law with him quite a lot! Himself went on playing in bands until a couple of years back and sometimes, if it wasn’t a private function they were playing at, I’d try to get along too. More babysitting for poor maw ’n’ paw-in-law.
They claim to have loved every minute. I don’t know about that, but our three little tykes certainly enjoyed themselves and were always eager to go to stay with granny and granda.
It would have seemed somewhat excessive (if our demands weren’t already excessive enough) to ask them to babysit just so that we could go out and hang around in the nearest bar, with no particular purpose in mind.
Of course, the kids grew up and, eventually, left home to establish their own lives.
And we found we could go out again . . . but it seemed we’d forgotten how.
We’d lost that elegant art of simply going out for the Hell of it, propping up the bar and shooting the breeze (and, perhaps, a couple of games of pool) with whomever else just happened to be at loose end that evening.
A couple of weekends back we had friends staying. We’d decided to go out for something to eat and had heard that the Com in Balintore had just started doing food. Why not give it a whirl, we thought.
The Com in Balintore is an interesting place. It closed several years back and I guess everyone thought that was that. But they reckoned without the vision of George Skinner and some of the other locals who bought it and — bit by bit — nursed it back from the dead.
At first there was a certain amount of scepticism. Could the home team make a go of it? Would they actually get a licence for a start?
Well, they did. And, of course, the rest of the community were happy to avail themselves of the Com’s services.
I think one of the secrets of their success is that they didn’t bite off more than they could chew. Initially they only opened the back bar and, even then, only in the evenings.
Once they’d got the back bar sorted out, they turned their attention to the front bar and the snug, both of which have been beautifully and very tastefully developed. They’ve managed to avoid the tricks and traps that have sounded the death knell for various other similar establishments.
All too often, when you hear of a pub being “done up” you know all too well what that means.
Chances are it’s either going to be fully of tacky pseudo-traditional kitsch or it’s going to be all modern and arty-farty. In either case you end up with somewhere that has all the atmosphere of — say — the Rose Street car park.
But not the Com. The decor isn’t over the top. It’s somehow in keeping with both its surroundings — there’s a seafaring theme going on — and the fact that, at the end of the day, it’s a pub. It feels just right.
Oh, and in case you’re wondering, the food was great!
Suddenly, I think we might have found ourselves a “local”.
