Judge Roy Beans has gone way down hill. I know that now all the Trinity heads have headed off on J1s and on backpacking adventures round Thailand it is sadly depopulated by it loylest devotees (a circumstance I am well glad of, let me tell you) but it remains a sad shadow of it's former self.
It is now part of the Porterhouse chain from what I can make out and they have done away with all the cowboy decor, the American Indian accessories and the unhealthily expansive cocktail list. Vile sounding traditional pub grub is offered in place of the gooey Tex mex grub of happier days and the ugly stag head by the door is gone. Even the grimy black pine has been painted over with white gloss and the walls are covered in teeny Yeats prints. Utterly vague and insipid. I am gutted. The pints are rotten as well. I will stay well clear in future. Bah.
On the other hand Pamela C. from Tramore is working behind the bar. So I could wangle free drinks maybe! I can forget all my principles in the face of a free drink.