The big screen at Cinema City flickered green – Gremins green. So that was the end of that. No matinee at the flicks for us. What’s a couple of likely lads to do instead on a damp and dismal afternoon in old Norwich town? Find a pub, of course. Down the years, we’ve supped at most city center watering holes and one of our favourites is the Murderers on Timberhill, a traditional ale house stuffed with old world charm, oak beams and exposed brickwork. The pub has a dark past – hence the name – and it’s usually our last port of call before we stumble onto our bus back to the village.
They serve a very quaffable house wine at the Murderers, at a very good price. And quaff it we do. At the time of our visit, the bar was rammed to the crooked beams with hard-drinking young bearded types. Boisterous but good-humoured, it turns out the hairy merry men had parachuted in from the North Sea gas rigs. And the riggers were hell-bent on spreading the love by offering sambuca shots to everyone from a loaded tray. It would’ve been rude to refuse.
Not to miss a PR trick, the Murderers has stepped into Christmas with a brilliant parody of a famous scene from that perennial festive favourite, Love Actually. So folks, I give you…
