I’ve been looking so long at these pictures of you

That I almost believe that they’re real 

I’ve been living so long with my pictures of you

That I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel. 

• The Cure, Pictures of you

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I feel that. Every word. 

Scrolling and scrolling. I’m stuck in an all consuming loop. This time though, I’m not sure it can be labelled as ‘doom scrolling’ because I was trawling through thousands upon thousands of photos on my phone. 

Or could it? 

Many people hate having their photo taken and as someone who in the past felt that way too, I truly get it. But as the person sitting here, phone in hand, looking at a photo of my late husband in one of our favourite pubs, I feel very, very different. The photo in question documenting that moment in full technicolour fills me with equal parts gratitude and pain. I’m glad I captured it, even though it may have been a tad annoying at the time for all involved. I also feel upset that my memory is hazy as hell due to that thing called grief.

Grief does that. It makes you question what was real and what was not. Not in a dissociative sense, but sometimes when I look at those photos I try so, so hard to remember every element of that moment. I want everything my senses were engaging in at the time to come flooding back so vividly when I stare at the photo. It hurts when it doesn’t – I feel so desperate, begging my memory and brain to give me more. In spite of this, any photos of the good times have been so important throughout my grieving process. Especially when all my brain wants to latch onto was anything but good in a grief hole. They provide me with a visual representation to help prove it wrong. 

These feelings were further compounded by visiting Tilt for my last beers and games of pinball before the shutters closed on Sunday evening (06.07.25). This was one of my favourite places – one that Craig, Flossie and I loved. The vibe was melancholy when I arrived, with the words “gutted” uttered multiple times. I peered around trying to frantically take as many mental photos of the remaining floor of Tilt that remained. Grief crept in as we raised a glass of strong stout to honour all the previous ones we’d sipped in that glorious place. After a few hours I finally managed to cadge a pound to give the Mandalorian pinball machine a last whirl. It’s what Craig would have wanted. 

So now Tilt takes its place in my camera roll, on the cloud forever but ceasing to exist in the real world. I am resigned to scanning and digesting the photos and videos I have left of Tilt. I hardly have any of me, Craig and Flossie there and I am desperately wishing that I now had more. My memory and brain can only do so much of the heavy mental lifting. Those visuals help remind me that those good times were really real. On the painful grief days I can’t overestimate how important that is. 

Everywhere I look around our favourite venues, there’s a memory to be revisited, no matter how hazy. Sometimes it’s the songs they play, the people that work there (or hang out there), our favourite drinks or the delicious familiar foodie smells that evokes so many core memories or just really helps them to add more much needed colour inside the stark black lines of the picture. 

These bars, pubs and restaurants and the people who run them – they deserve more than being a memory,  or just a photo or video in our camera rolls. 

They aren’t just bricks and mortar, ripe spots for redevelopment for the highest bidder. They are the beating heart of our community. Not just that, sometimes they help so many people to keep their actual hearts beating. They provide a safe space, a warm hug, a friendly face and somewhere warm and welcoming when you’d rather be anywhere but “home”. I’ve been in that place a lot these last few years. I’m sure you or someone you know has too. 

I don’t want to have to grieve for another place we loved.

Do you? 

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As with all my posts here, I invite you to shout out venues (and the people in them) they you love. Come on, hospitality is a shi*t show right now and they need you more than ever. 

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