The large old wooden 1930s bar in The Ivy House is the heart, with the brass curve that hugs along the bottom where your foot rests. You sit watching the dust dance in soft light, your pint on the table with a packet of crisps split open. What did that person say say? Oh wait, they’ve gone outside. It doesn’t matter you’re watching the foam overflow the glass, running down into the wooden table grooves. By moving the glass around it becomes a secret message you can write on the table that evaporates before anyone can read. The beer soaked mat starts to disintegrate…The large old wooden 1930s bar in The Ivy House is the heart, with the brass curve that hugs along the bottom where your foot rests. You sit watching the dust dance in soft light, your pint on the table with a packet of crisps split open. What did that person say say? Oh wait, they’ve gone outside. It doesn’t matter you’re watching the foam overflow the glass, running down into the wooden table grooves. By moving the glass around it becomes a secret message you can write on the table that evaporates before anyone can read.