Market Tavern, Market Street, Preston

Elevated above the rest of us on a perfectly groomed whinnying high horse, the self-satisfied among our number may peer down their nose from time-to-time, to offer a little of the wisdom which has kept them galloping on such a formidable stallion.
‘Ahh but you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover’ they say, closing one eye ever so slightly to emphasise the gravity in their words.
Nonsense.
Imagine for a moment if we didn’t judge a book by its cover and instead took everything we saw at face value.
I would be bulk buying cans of a leading brand deodorant with the expectation a couple of sprays would bring hundreds of girls flocking to my door.
The £20,000 administration fee I handed over to a nice chap on the phone who promised to deal with my Nigerian lottery win would seem very reasonable considering I was set for a £15bn windfall.
And every time spam email dropped into my junk mail box promising various mental and physical improvements, would be moments for rejoicing.
So, whenever I have walked past the Market Tavern and saw groups of homeless people doing nothing worse than using nearby alleys to get out of the rain, or the Squires nightclub crowd congregating at the front, I have immediately been put off and gone elsewhere.
But on Friday night after a meal out with Miss Chardonnay Sidekick we decided it was a night for trying places which are not on our usual drag.
Inside we found the pub clean, cosy and welcoming, as far a cry from my snapshot judgement as it could possibly be.
There are comfortable chairs on a raised seating area, as well as several booths and nooks tucked away in corners of the pub.
In the ‘Olde Worlde Preston History Championships’ The Market Tavern has put up a strong showing with old pictures and histories of individual buildings and significant historic figures.
I got a pint of Double Amber which had found its way down from the Caledonian Brewery in Edinburgh and settled down for a relaxing pint in a pub which was busy but far from overrun.
Supping down my pint while sitting comfortably in my high backed chair, it was all going very nicely until that perfectly pruned high horse cantered into mind.
‘I told you so’, high horse rider proclaimed with a wink.
‘Damn it you’re right’ I growled.
‘What’s that?’ Miss Chardonnay Sidekick asked, a little confused.
‘Oh nothing’, I replied. ‘But while I think about it, that chap never called me back today about my lottery win’.