THE DOG HOUSE

( CINDERFORD)

Ah, the Doghouse—if there was ever a pub so stubbornly, brazenly unique that the very word “unique” packed up its things, muttered something about finding a less complicated dictionary, and promptly left, this would be it. It was the sort of place that defied description, or at least threatened to punch description in the nose if it dared to try. The Doghouse seemed to exist in a parallel universe where the laws of pub logic—sticky tables, questionably ancient bar stools, and the faint aroma of mystery pie—had been tweaked ever so slightly, with unpredictable results. It was the kind of place where you’d find a gargoyle in the corner nursing a pint and a hangover, and a sentient hat stand that occasionally asked if you’d seen its scarf. Unique? It laughed at the word. This was the Doghouse, and it had better things to be.

In the bustling heart of a realm where reality and whimsy dance a merry jig, we find ourselves at the entrance of the renowned tavern, “The Dog House.” Here, patrons from all walks of life gather under the warm glow of enchanted lanterns, their laughter mingling with the clinking of glasses.

The air is thick with tales both tall and true, but none so captivating as the whispered legends of Miss Blackbrow, the enigmatic mixologist presiding over tonight’s concoctions. Miss Blackbrow, with her raven-black hair and eyes that twinkle like mischief incarnate, stands behind the bar, her hands a blur as she crafts potions that could charm even the most stoic of dragons. Local folklore paints her as a figure of intrigue and mystery. It is said (though only in hushed tones) that when she is not weaving her liquid magic, she engages in peculiar pursuits. Rumour has it that she has a penchant for rounding up the local midget population—not for any nefarious purpose, mind you, but to stretch them just enough to assist in stocking the highest shelves of retail establishments. These midgets, known for their cunning escapes, turn this into an annual escapade, much to the delight and exasperation of shopkeepers. As patrons approach the bar, they are greeted by Miss Blackbrow’s knowing smile—a smile that suggests she holds secrets as potent as her brews. With a wink and a flourish, she serves drinks that shimmer with possibilities, each sip a promise of adventure or perhaps a glimpse into one’s own fantastical tale. In this world where the ordinary is extraordinary, Miss Blackbrow stands as a testament to the multifaceted nature of those who inhabit it—a character as complex and delightful as the stories she inspires.

Conversation centres for a moment on the cobwebs and spiders covering the walls and windows the only thing missing is the cauldron miss Blackbrow uses to conjure up the magical potions passed across the bar in exchange for the local currency. For a moment somebody was brave enough to contemplate the fact that its nearly Halloween and that would account for the décor but then kept this to themself so as not to upset the balance of the local dialect

Now the local dialect itself is nothing to take pity on upset it and it’ll chew you up and spit you out whilst muttering some long lost smattering of words that’ll come alive and kick your ass just for the fun of it.

But I digress back in the real world stepping through the portal to reality

If your ever in Cinderford you should never leave without popping into the “Dog House” and meet Steph, Steve and their team feel free to join the locals in their banter. Remember you might get ribbed over something but feel free to give it back a little. And if your lucky you might even meet miss Blackbrow ………..