If I were ever to want to move to a city I think the city for me would be Birmingham. It's a wonderful mix of industrial and rural, it's in the middle and it has a fantastic, cosmopolitan style. But above this, the people are friendly and have a great sense of humour. This isn't to ignore the great comics of Merseyside and the North. It's just I feel a kindred spirit with Brummies.
For some inexplicable reason God has chosen me to have the biggest hands of any licensee. If you are at your computer reading this, imagine putting your thumb on F1 and your little finger on F12. Try it (on a laptop it covers the keys). There is a medical explanation but this isn't the place to tell.
Having big hands in a pub is, at least, interesting.
It is a source of conversation. I've had coach parties deviate their route to see the landlord with the big hands.
It is a source of security. "Cor, I wouldn't want to be hit with hands like those".
It is the source of magic. Where did that pint come form?
It is the source of comedy moments. Big hands. Big feet. You do the mathematics.
It can be a nuisance. I mentioned to one chap at the bar that it was annoying when people shoved empty packets of crisps into the bottom of their beer glasses because I couldn't get them out. He finished his pint and said "pint of lager and a packet of cheese and onion, please". Own goal.
So why Birmingham?
Some years ago, sitting in a bar in Birmingham, a chap came over and said "haven't you got big hands!" I mumbled and said dismissively that I always fancied a job being a gynaecologist but couldn't get the work. The man paused, sighed and said "You could in Birmingham".