Heat. A smudgy reflection of the ceiling’s revolving fan in the polished wood of the table at which I sit — there are some old 60s/70s hits playing with an intervening solo from the seagull outside, an ear-piercing screech that only a seagull can do. One room, a small bar counter, coat hooks at waist level; leaded colour glass in the window; down a narrow lane; back inside a red patterned carpet across which walks a man with a mandolin to play outside. Furniture: red stools, round pub tables with metal claws for feet. Four cask beers: RCH Pitchfork and Double Header, Abbey Bellringer and St George’s Friar Tuck. Bellringer is a grainy, crisp, dry bittersweet citrusy drop in the glass, old school but accomplished. Yanks come in and one asks if she can have a pale ale, gets Bellringer while her mates order Amstel. I got wasted last night says the attractive one, a hint of Goth in her hair. A woman, 64ish, looked after, regular, looks at the beers and orders a pint of RCH’s Double Header — orange citrus, hint of almond, amber gold in colour. Friendly barman, who was the man with the mandolin, tells me that the man who owns Abbey Ales who run the pub did a session with Apple Records in the 60s and still gets a cheque twice a year. Oh and where am I? The Coeur de Lion in Bath — the smallest pub in the city. You should visit it.