“You own a pub!” I say in wonderment, as the initial melee of the evening dies down.
I’ve watched for fifteen minutes as Nathaniel has pulled pints, bantered with customers, given instructions to the bar staff, and made sure everyone is happy. Now the initial rush is over, he’s come round to where I’m perched on a bar stool with a glass of wine.
“Three pubs,” he corrects me. “And it’s not just me. It’s our family business. The Bell, The Swan over in Bingley, and The Two Foxes.”
Every seat seems to be full, with people spilling outside into the tiny garden and onto the forecourt. The chatter is tremendous. “How on earth do you keep the pubs running and have time to be a gardener?” I ask.
“OK, I’ll come clean.” Nathaniel lifts his hands. “I don’t serve very often. We have a great bar sta
