We arrived in Dublin for a week of political detox and to see a childhood friend of Nick’s. This was our fourth stop at the Dublin airport as we prefer to fly here to/from the US. It is actually a pretty small airport, and you do US customs here rather than in the US. They also have a combination Burger King and hotel, or at least we thought it was (our second stay!) We had a very early morning flight, so we booked a booth at the home of the Whopper for the night.
Then on to Liverpool where we were treated to “Lights, Camel, Action” our first British Christmas school play and our first time as grandparents watching a school play. It was great. We also treated ourselves to a Labrador dog sit in a flat in the historic Tobacco Warehouse.
This was fun because we had noticed this building on our first Liverpool trip (see it here https://chosenfugue.xyz/2018/10/21/liverpool/ ) and the building was also used in Peaky Blinders, another Peaky Blinders connection (https://chosenfugue.xyz/2026/01/12/albania-mania-2/ The other big thing was it was super close to Costco so we had our first UK Costco experience. Almost everything looked exactly the same as in the US. Same layout, sections, Kirkland products, sample stations, food court, except they pushed their giant Costco carts on the left side of the aisles. While the food court looked the same, in addition to the Costco pizza, they had jacket potatoes! Of course Patricia needed to have one, sharing the excessive amounts of tuna from her jacket potato with Nick’s pizza. We went twice.
Everyone came from the West Coast to spend Christmas in Liverpool, and as everyone left, we decided we should too. It was time for a vacation.
Where to go in Britain is often about the name. Some sound like a nursery rhyme (any place in the Cotswalds), some sound kinda of silly (Studley Roger), some are names of cheese (Leicester) and others are infused with history (yes, some are also just bland- Milton Keyes). All are reasons for us to go.
This time we chose history; Leeds and York, 26 miles apart in North Yorkshire. There were ancient ruins, medieval city walls, majestic churches, good museums, historic buildings, pedestrian-only streets, and quaint winding lanes lined with small shops.
But, the real action turned out to be where we stayed, between the two cities, in the sleepy village of Tadcaster. Other than being roughly equidistance location, between Leeds and York, Tadcaster is the home of the Samuel Smith brewery which was established in the town in 1758 and sits in the center. In addition to their nice variety of flavorful beers (favorites are the oatmeal and chocolate stouts), they also own pubs and Bed and Breakfasts. So we stayed at a beer, bed and breakfast (?) The bed was fine, the breakfast was filling (full English breakfast minus the bangers and rashers), but the beer was not actually served at the B&B. We had to venture out to the town pubs.
Sam Smith pubs are also famous for their no electronic devices policy, to maintain the pub culture of spirited conversation. This translates to only pensioners at the pubs we went to. We were the youngsters in the room, but we were good youngsters as we turned our mobiles off. The flagship pub was the first we went to. It was closed down. On the door was an advert seeking a couple to reopen it and run it. Undaunted, we found another neighborhood pub. Walking in felt like we had entered a stereotypic small town movie scene, maybe a zombie movie; zombie seniors? Everyone stopped talking, turned to us and stared. It was even more uncomfortable when we left without ordering. Although they had a whole line of Samuel Smiths on tap, it was an entirely bad selection of their lagers, ciders and bitters. We found another pub, with the exact same selection, and maybe the exact same old people with the exact same silent stare.
Not to be deterred we explored Sam Smith pubs in Leeds and York. Exact same selections and people.
The zombies were in unison, messing with us. But this time we reluctantly got a beer, and it was not good. Hence the name, bitter. So, we went back to Tadcaster, for the last remaining Sam Smith place that the B&B lady said was the best. (The Royal Oak).
On way over to the Royal Oak we saw an old man fall, hit his head on a metal railing and then bleed profusely with blood squirting out from a wound on his forehead. A pulsating arterial bleed. His friend was calling the ambulance. He was already sitting in a pool of blood, trousers soaked. Nick applied constant pressure with his always ready handkerchief and tissues and got the bleeding to stop. Patricia stood behind him to support in case he fainted and fell back. We were there for 20-30 minutes holding pressure, waiting for the ambulance.
Our new mate, Ken, had just come from the Royal Oak pub and had had two pints of Sam Smith bitters (ugh) to celebrate his 80th birthday which was that day. It looked like he had lost the two pints of bitters in blood on the street. Eventually, a pediatric ICU nurse drove by and offered more dressings, then a EMT from another county got out of her car and took over, but made it worse by wrapping his head instead of keeping pressure on, and the blood immediately soaked through the dressings. Ken informed us he needed to take a wee, so with Nick and the EMT supporting him, blood pouring down his face because the pressure was removed, and his birthday jumper getting soaked, the three of them walked the 200 + yards, uphill, to his flat, and to his loo. Unfortunately the flat was on the second floor. Patricia and Ken’s younger friend, who told us his name but his accent was so strong, we only caught about 30% of the words, followed the trail of blood and waited for the ambulance.
Finally, after an hour, with more blood (gauze was not as good as the hanky-tissue pressure combination), the emergency triage nurse came, followed by the ambulance. Another 10-15 minutes as all the ambulance and nurses chatted and Ken was loaded in the ambulance, Nick washed all the blood off his hands and rain poncho and we walked over to the pub, and it had same bad selection, so we didn’t get one. A bitter ending to the zombie movie.
Maybe, we will apply for that pub job and turn it into a combination pub-urgent care with a better selection of stouts and medical supplies.
Chosen Fugue 
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