Homecoming

Imagine a darkened room, permeated with the mouth-watering aroma of roast beef, warm ale, and pipe tobacco. Imagine a small, unassuming corner table next to a modest hearth just past the bar.

Then imagine a man in a heavy tweed coat bustling in from the street, beads of rain dotting his leather satchel and the glint of firelight reflecting off of the buttons on his ornate waistcoat. Already seated at the corner table is a man with a high forehead, his hands folded neatly in front of him and a small Bible lying open near his arm. Next imagine each of these two learned gentlemen acknowledging the other with a courteous nod and brief salutation.

"Morning, Tollers. Beastly weather, isn't it?"

"Morning, Jack. The wind practically ripped my coat from my shoulders during the ride down Banbury. But I've got some more of my nonsense to show you."

Then imagine the newly arrived man throwing back the flap on his satchel and drawing out a bundle of worn-edged papers. And on those coffee-stained pages...well, you can just imagine what immortal stories those florid, graceful strokes might entail. Such may have been a Monday morning meeting of the Oxford Inklings at the old Bird & Baby.

And I ate an Angus burger at that very table. Awesome.