Ol' Thatch Tavern

Many centuries ago, Shakespeare sat in the Old Thatch Tavern, on Greenhill Street, located in the centre of Stratford-Upon-Avon, on a warm summer's day (back in the days when summers were warm, winters bitterly cold and men were men), taking a swig of beer and conjuring up sonnets in his head. If such a man existed at all, or whether all the works of Shakespeare were conjured up in one head, or whether this tavern stood in this place at the time of a man called Shakespeare, or whether he really did sit in the Ol' Thatch Tavern, is completely irrelevant. For my story here, he did. Shakespeare that is. A man who produced poetry every time he sneezed, and beautiful sonnets, each time he spoke, such a man exists in this story. And this Shakespeare sat at the Ol' Thatch Tavern, in the midst of a busy Stratford-Upon-Avon and sipped, neigh, swigged beer and wrestled with characters from his stories.