Four Chestnuts (Chichester)

Tinkerbell (Peter Pan)

Bloody men. Never grow up do they?

Take my bloke Pete. He’s the wrong side of 40, but still acts like a young pirate.

We’ve been living together - man and fairy - in Chichester for years. And he hasn’t even touched the kitchen. The units look like they’re from the seventies and the cooker’s been on its last legs for a decade.

“You’re acting like a child,” I used to tell him, “why don’t you grow up and be a man; accept some responsibility for your life?” But he wouldn’t listen. Kept telling me he doesn’t believe in fairies any more, to 'shut your wings' before adding the only magic in his life came solo with eight pints of Fosters-top.

Couple of months ago, I got real suspicious. That old trollop Wendy was still on the scene making her doleful eyes at my man. And, even if he wasn’t leaving work at West Sussex County Council’s planning department to meet her, I reckoned his booze habit might have been an excuse for a trawl for some similarly safe old bag.

So I started searching for him in central Chichester boozers. The sort of pick-up joints where stories of giant crocodiles, Indian warriors and pirate ships might impress the broads.

But I couldn’t find him. After a while, I suspected I might be looking in the wrong kind of boozer. After all, my Pete’s a pretty fey fellow, and I’ve always had my suspicions.

* Not that I’ve got anything against that sort of thing; I spent many a happy day frolicking down in the ponds with those foxy, fishy mermaids before I met him.

But if I’d wanted to marry ‘one of those’, I would’ve gone for my old mate Bertie Bassett. Boy that guy was sweet(s). Such a shame about his partner, the Michelin man, and that BMW run-flat tyre accident.  *

Anyway, turns out I was on completely the wrong track. When I eventually found him, there wasn’t any funny business at all. He’d just taken to boozing well outside the town centre in a pub called the Four Chestnuts.

Now, although I don’t find his child-like behaviour endearing in the least, I don’t blame him for choosing to butter up the locals here. It’s a thoroughly decent pub with plenty of strings to its bow. Lots of bars, plenty of real ale and a decent line in quality cold lagers.

I didn’t stay too long. I’m tiny, but also a bit sparkly and I only just managed to conceal my presence on that fateful reccie while downing a couple of Carlings on a stool by the main bar.

After that night, I decided to let him get on with it.

Each to their own I suppose. Pete may be a big kid. And his magic may come from flying solo down the Chestnuts watching the England under 21s. But we all have our vices. Mine is back at home, sprinkling a little fairy dust on the (ancient) toilet seat.

Before hovering it up my cute little hooter (if you know what I mean)

Tinkerbell’s rating for the Four Chestnuts 10 / 10

Sputnikski

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  “,….. Why didn’t they live to be 100?Huh? Well, they woz running round all day, hunting mammoths, eating berries,..rumping their little hearts out. No boozing or smoking. They must have been fit as fiddles. Yer Neanderthalls……….I’ll tell you why, it’s … Continue reading →