The object in my office I treasure most is probably a framed photograph. It shows the battered signage above Edinburgh’s Oxford Bar. ... I’ve been drinking in the Oxford Bar since I was a student in the 1980s (a fellow student--one of my flat-mates--was part-time barman there). The first time I walked in, I was a stranger. By my third visit, my preferred drink was being poured before I needed to ask.Also included in the L.A. Times excerpt are comments by Jonathan Franzen and A.S. Byatt. You can find the whole piece here.
That’s the “Ox” for you: It’s like a private club, only with no joining fee. It’s also a democratic place: Everyone’s as good as anyone else, as long as they have the price of their next drink about their person. There are few frills to the Ox: no piped music, little in the way of hot foods (pies, pasties). It’s a place for drink and for conversation. I decided Inspector Rebus would like it, so he started drinking there, too.
... That sign helps me get inside the head of Rebus ... It keeps me grounded and also acts as a taskmaster: If I can get a good day’s work done, I can reward myself with a pint later on.
(Hat tip to Campaign for the American Reader.)
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