It was dusk. I’d been in the village of Grassington for just ten minutes when sat outside The Devonshire talking to Charlotte I saw over her shoulder up main st outside The Foresters Arms a young man punch edan old man. He went down flat on his back. He must have been about sixty years and his assailant half his age. I blinked.
Charlotte was mortified that this was my first impression of the place . “I think it's the doctor and the man who punched him was his stepson” she said desperately seeking evidence for mitigation. The drunken doctor stood up and wobbled then took swings at thin air. Literally punch drunk. I tell Charlotte that I take first impressions last in order of what matters over time. But it was a cracking punch.