I met my son and daughter-in-law at the boozer, and was informed that there was no 'bitter'.
This, as you can imagine, sent shock waves through the clientele. They were banging their heads against the wall, cutting at their wrists with jagged pieces of pork scratchings, and some were even praying to Dionysus in a last desperate attempt to re-fill the pumps.
Luckily Cro has a card up his sleeve on such rare occasions, and he reverts to drinking draught Guinness. I do occasionally drink draught Guinness in France too, but that (bizarrely) comes from a can.
Here's the old chap halfway through his second pint, beginning to feel mellow. I do love an evening at the Pub'. The old rogue!