A tree. Somewhere. In the west.

Here's one I started some time back of Birchall's pub in Ranelagh, just before Jack sold the place.
I have a habit of getting lazy about going out to lunch and for a time I always used to wander down to Birchalls and order the same thing - cheese salad sandwich and soup.
Then you find yourself getting particular about the way it's cut - straight across, not diagonal, thanks.
It's just a short step to complaining about bloody teenagers.
Birchalls was a nice place but since Jack and family moved out it seems to have gone downhill. At least it looked that way last time I was there.
The drawing was of a bunch of ne're do wells that gathered about noon and filled in the Irish Times crossword (the cryptic one of course).
They did it on their own seperate papers and would have animated arguments about the final few clues. Crossword was an apt description, because a more irritable bunch of grumps I have never come across. It usually ended with insults fired across the floor, a couple of carefully chosen put-downs and an unresolved puzzle. Of course they'de be there again at noon the next day.