Once upon a time there was a house. And in that house there was a Christmas tree, and under the tree was a little girl. To be more specific, she was laying on her stomach on the floor in front of the tree, gazing at her mother’s collection of ceramic Christmas houses, imagining that if they were real, who would live in them? What would their story be?
Then the little girl grew up. She obtained a collection of Christmas village pieces of her own (incidentally, these pieces are now garaged as our fifth child is absolutely the most loving kid but nevertheless a human wrecking ball). And one Christmas, five years ago, she looked at her newest piece and wondered who would own it? What kind of person would own this tavern?
By the time I started writing, the image of the Pub rather changed a bit (diamond paned windows, the bar being on the right of the front door, green sign, etc.), but in case you’re wondering why there’s an Irish Pub in a Tudor building, there you have it! 😉