The Butchered Arm.

As a bit of a mid-week treat, a few friends and I have decided to pop along to The Butcher's Arms, Herne, tonight.
It's a smashing tiny, little, award winning, semi-country pub, that comfortably seats around two or three people before you have to hold your glass under your chin and drink through a straw.
There'll be about half a dozen of us, and we'll be bringing our own straws, as, since losing the use of one of his arms in a motorcycle accident, a few years ago, the landlord doesn't seem to be able to adequately clean his own.
He's a good fella though, and likes a laugh, though he wasn't all that impressed on the occasion that he found a pin sticking out of his less useful limb, just before we departed a particularly drunken session.
Though to his credit, he doesn't employ any staff, preferring to run the place single handed.

I thought it might be quite good fun to see if I could raise a large enough posse, by posting this, to give him a proper half-flap on.