The Open Arms

The Open Arms public house unbolted its doors when all other pubs closed theirs. It trades at the crossroads of oral history, fiction and macaronic entertainments. 

You’ll find the landlady at the bar, reminiscing about her forty years a publican, and if you’re lucky you might catch her barring some poor sot. But beware the pub bores and braggarts, who will bend your ears, and the drunken conversations that wind on through nonsense. 

The pub’s brighter attractions are its curious graffiti and lost property, incredible sessions by musicians and new fictions and drawings and poetry scrawled on the back of beermats, on the food menu and knitted into yarns in the pub’s many snugs and booths.

The only problem: you can’t actually get a drink there. But you can avoid anyone you don’t like the look of, and there’s no last orders. And everything is on the house.

The Open Arms public house welcomes readers, writers, makers and talkers.