the local

We've locked in a local and it's made my week.

I could throw a rock from my window and hit about six different bars/pubs (i could also throw bags of rubbish from my window into the open skip bins in our alley way, but that's another less pleasant story...) which makes it weird that we've lived here nearly a year but haven't locked in a 'local'.
Maybe I've been watching too much How I Met Your Mother recently, but suddenly, having a local seems like the most important thing in the world.

Our new local is awesome, we all agree. It's small enough so we can live in hope of one day having the bartender know us (and, as we've embarrassingly discussed at length in a 'wow, can you imagine anything better' way.... he might even know our individual drink orders and then charmingly say 'The Regular??' as we walk in. wow. the.ultimate.)

hi local. hello soon-to-be new local friends.

My friend Angie (who also lives in our building, thereby adding to my ongoing list of 'parallels between my life and melrose place') suggested we go one step further and start ordering diet drinks so we can then say 'heading for a lo-cal at the Local...' ha.
oh Angie. I'm sure that joke will be a hit with all the new friends we're bound to make at our new local this week. yep.

Yep, that's the face of a local. 

Our new local has a little bench outside, but most people mill around on the street. Yep. Kewl local.

Our new local has a rival pub about 25m down the path which seemed strangely full of oldish men. When we were milling outside The Local (oooh i loved saying that!) last week, it almost seemed as if we were two street gangs about to do a sweet dance off, clutching our plastic cups.

LOCAL!