Holymoorside is a village two miles west of Chesterfield. Off the beaten track, it has two pubs, both frequented by me.
The Lamb Inn was never busy on a weekday lunchtime, at least not when I visited with my ambulance driver mate. One day we decided to play a game of dominoes. Two ancient locals sidled up to us and suggested we play a game of Fives and Threes, for a small bet, of course.
Well we took them on and duly lost the first game, in the midst of comments that we didn't really know how to play. But we did and soon wiped the smiles off their faces in game 2, and game 3. The hustlers hustled.
My more regular haunt was the Bulls Head run by Albert Swain and his wife.
In those days the Bull had two things going for it: lock-ins in the evenings and proximity to the football pitch.
At chucking-out time on a Saturday afternoon we would repair to the football ground to watch the 'lads', many of whom had earlier been in the pub drinking copiously, set about the opposition. And set about they did. Fouls and fights far more entertaining than the football.