After his fall and hip operation my father returned home to Shipston nine days ago. I pitched up six days ago and we started a daily routine of two "walks" a day then with the carrot being an ability to get to the white bear. Dad is now walking on crutches and gradually the walks have got longer.
Yesterday his two walks, with his twice a day carer Emma in tow, were to the Co-Op in the main square and back. On the other side of that square sits the White Bear. So, as in some some fable, of Aesop he could almost see Jan the landlord pulling a pint of the rather rough organic and cloudy cider that the White Bear serves but, the fox - my father - was unable to reach over and enjoy a drink.
But he has made good progress and so I popped in to the White Bear yesterday to book a table for lunchtime today for the two of us. Somehow the pub has avoided bankruptcy without my father's patronage although I fear Jan must have suffered a grim couple of weeks. But as of today the lunchtime ritual of reading the Telegraph at the White Bear is restored.
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