Last Orders at the Talbot

News that the Talbot is to be turned into flats is just another statistic in the slow death of Kettering’s pubs, but it holds special memories for Patgod, for back in our paper days many was the half-baked, would-be humorous idea that emerged in its cosy interior.

It tended to work like this. I would loftily decide that we were doing x issues that season, and the next one was in x weeks. Halfway towards that self imposed deadline, it would dawn on us that we had precisely 2 pages of written content, not counting a pending account of a trip to Macclesfield that with a bit of padding could stretch to another 3, and had zero ideas bubbling under.  We both knew what that meant – it was time to hit the Talbot and not emerge until we felt less panicky about scraping together another edition.

These brainstorming sessions were usually on a Saturday night and I suppose the Talbot was first chosen because there was never any problem getting a quiet table (even then, trade was slow).  That and the relatively low risk of casual violence.

By about the third trip to the bar the blank sheet on the table would have its first scribblings, and by a weird process of creativity, the more alcohol was consumed, the funnier our ideas appeared to be!  I know, bizarre.

(Passive smoking about 20 B&H in the Talbot's fug was another inevitable feature)

By last orders a bunch of topics, often of very tangential relevance to Kettering or its football club, were agreed upon, and off we went to turn this comedy gold into base metal.     

Around two months later, we reconvened to do it again!  

Here’s to the Talbot, Pedigree at £1.40 a pint, a shared packet of peanuts and birthplace of numerous borderline libellous assaults on Rushden & Diamonds.

 

Ha ha. A typical zinger probably conceived on a Talbot night