Friday Night

On a cold Friday evening in December approaching the Seaview Inn, the crisp air is filling lungs and burning cheeks, and the wind tussles hair and tugs at long coats. The Fal river behind ripples with waves unlike its usual flat calm self. The boats in the distance rock and sway, their masts nodding as they strain to break free from their moorings. The surface of the Fal reflects the shimmering lights from the town, each beam streaking across the water. Perched high above Falmouth, the Seaview Inn offers an unparalleled view of the sea, a sight that never fails to captivate.

Customers approaching the entrance are greeted by a low sturdy woodendoor, characteristic of the pub’s age and a testament to its history. On pushing open the wooden door, instead of being engulfed by the lingering scent of smoke as of days long past, a rush of warm air envelops you, instantly giving relief from the harsh environment outside. The bar is positioned centrally in the room, an unusual layout that only adds to the pub’s charm.

The layers of clothes required to combat the cold winter air outside are removed within minutes of being in the warm homely environment. There is a straining coat hanger already drying the abundance of coats. With only little space left, another coat is added. The air feels alive with laughter, chatter, and the clinking of glasses – an atmosphere that fills the space. Amongst the loud excitable chatter, occasional snippets of conservation can be heard in distinctive Cornish accents accentuated with a rolling ‘r’, punctuated by the occasional call of “are you waiting?” in a confusingly blended Welsh and Manchester accent from the bar staff, Tom and Ryan.

The carpet is well-worn, the pile flattened and stained with the history of the pub seeping into the floor; it simply adds to the cosy ambience. Looking up, dark wooden beams span the length of the interior, hanging down so low it demands a sense of intimacy to the space. The lighting is soft and dim, casting a warm soft glow across the space giving a sense of relaxation, until the crash of discarded bottles quickly awakens the senses and returns the visitor to the reality of being inside a bustling pub.

At the bar, through the crowd, there’s Morty, a regular customer. He’s seated with a pint of his favourite ale, Potion, meticulously rolling acigarette with slow and deliberate movements. Behind the bar, Tom is ready to take orders with a friendly smile.

Seated in front of the bar is George, another regular, sharing a game of ‘watch slap’ with an unfamiliar face. The game looks like a game of conkers, entailing the two men taking their watches off in order to see who can destroy the others watch first. It’s an amusing sight, watching each blow and the intense expressions of each player. How long can a watch last without being broken? George eventually wins, leaving his opponent weirdly dumbfounded by his now-broken watch.