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I say, old bean, want to run round to Brit's for a pint and a gander at some young, attractive professionals, wot? And Scotch eggs? Well, Scotch eggs if you lose a bet. Who eats a bread-crumb coated-sausage ball formed around a hard-boiled egg? That's what happens when you have to pick between cuisine and empire. Anyhoo, the lawn-bowling court out back is a real treasure, and if you score a Friday-night table, a couple of pints, and a plate of the ale-battered fish and chips, you might just end the night singing "God Save the Queen" to one of the comely up-and-comers that frequent the spot.