There's a wee tiny teeny tawny atomy-size of a place just after opening up in the alleyway across the street from the ghost of Javas in Catherine St.
On the outside it's teeny tiny, on the inside it's positively voluminous, how is this possible? Well of course there is a perfectly reasonable explanation.
It's a tardis.
Some timelord or other must have stopped off recently in Catherine St. (for a few scoops) and lost his keys or something.It happens. The minute you go in the door you have to go down a step or two, and you must negotiate steps to the toilet also; what are these steps if not clear evidence of Anti-Dalek features installed by the previous owner?
It's dark and red and low-ceilinged and poky and has a nice almost-nefarious 'Mos Eisley Cantina' feel. They pour an exceptional Guinness and a robust pint of Squeamish so do by all means check it out if you're down that way.
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