I was so cold despite all the colours of the rainbow that clung to the back wall. Even the piano seemed frozen in time, lid up, candles half used, wax solidified like pillars supporting the arches of a cathedral. Half empty bottles lined the bar, each label seemed to tell its own story. Lost in amongst the grander bottles was a small gold coloured bottle of barley wine. I was home. Even the bar tender appeared lost. Dropping a pound on the bar I called for my tipple, before the flames of hell grew around me.