...a well known pub chain drinking their unlimited coffee to see what the day would bring.

I'd never been to a pub before opening time before, so arriving to find myself in a queue of three was somewhat of a surprise. It was a bitterly cold morning as the five minute countdown began. An old fella in a bedraggled grey overcoat was head of the queue. A newspaper under his arm told me this wasn't his first rodeo. Behind him stood a guy of about fifty, ear glued to his phone, lazily agreeing with much of the conversation. He clearly had other things on his mind than whatever the caller was requesting.

Out of nowhere, another fella walks over and heads straight to the front and pulls on the door. Did he think we hadn't tried that?! Maybe we all hadn't, I know I didn't... Phew, rejected. Back of the queue for you smart a*se. In fact, after pulling on the door he just gets off down the road. Strange. Only been here a couple of minutes and the action has already started.

Spying through the window I see movement behind the bar, a woman with a set of keys on her hip looks over to us. It's on. Here we go. I pull my hood down in anticipation.

Wait, where's she gone? Disappearing out of the back of the bar, she reappears from the kitchen door and is heading our way. It's 8:01am but I won't complain.

She opens the door and the fellas ahead of me push through like it's the Gold Rush. The warmth hits me. Oh that's nice. I've been here a few times before and despite thinking about where I'm going to sit for the past few days, I freeze like a deer in headlights. I want to be by the coffee machine but not too far away from the action. I don't want a window seat or maybe I do, there's plenty of TV's I could watch. Oh frig, I just drop down on the nearest seat whilst I wait for a break at the bar. The first fella is almost served without opening his mouth. I hear the woman ask for £1.89 and he appears to pull out the exact change from a frayed pocket. Number two gives it the morning patter as he orders a Guinness. A quick scan of the breakfast menu tells me I don't need much more than a quid for this bottomless cup. Result.

Before I'm out of my seat a woman has made it to the bar with her own travel mug. Card scanned and she's straight to the coffee machine. Efficient.

I pick my bag up and head over. A quick good morning, cash exchanged for a mug, and the first brew of the day is incoming. The screen couldn't be simpler to use. Click the drink you want and put the cup on the spot. A chocolate duster can be spotted to the side of the machine and I decide to have a sprinkle on my latte. A seat in a booth is my chosen destination to enjoy this neverending treat.

Facing the main doors and windows is the obvious choice; natural light and the ability to scan customers as they trudge through is essential to keep me entertained during this experience. I've brought a book too, just in case there's a lull and to remain incognito of course.

The latte isn't too bad tasting but it's far from hot. Is this a ploy from the Marmite owner to get customers in and out quickly? Smart move if so.

The old fella and the other guy are sat at the other end of the pub on separate tables near the bar. No conversation between the pair but both are straining their necks to read the subtitles on the TV. Maybe they'll agree on something soon.

A few more tables fill up as the breakfast crowd starts rolling in. I opted for scrambled eggs and bacon at home, always been an early riser.

The coffee machine is beginning to draw a crowd too but I'm in no hurry. A group of tradesmen take the booth behind me and begin chatting about their job in hand. A debate breaks out on what they'll be eating and who's going up to put the order in. A phone call takes the boss out of the equation as he walks past my table and instructs one of lads to get him the small breakfast.

With my mind distracted I don't notice the guy taking his place on the two seater table adjacent. He'd be winning the best dressed competition by a mile. Smart navy jumper with collars underneath, pair of grey pants and a nice pair of shoes. I'm wondering if this guy is lost as I head up for latte number two.

On my return there's a laptop on his table which I notice is plugged in to the socket. This guy knows his onions. A young staff member comes over with a cup for the keyboard tapper. Clearly a modern man with table service at his fingertips. As he gets up to fill his mug he asks if I'll keep an eye on his laptop while he's gone. Not a problem, I gesture with a thumbs up. The old man is up for another pint I notice, as the weather takes a watery turn outside. It's absolutely bucketing down. Nice day to be sat inside. The builders are eating by now and talking about tonight's football match. An eye roll from my new friend across the way as the predictions for tonight's relegation scrap get louder.

The kitchen door is swinging open and closed like a saloon door in a John Wayne film. Almost every table in the eating side of the pub is taken. The lonely man/regulars section up the front isn't at full capacity but it's getting there. Pint glasses can be seen as far as the eye can see. This place is lively before other pub landlords have even gotten out of their pyjamas. What a world.

As the last few school-run mums empty out there's a bit of a pause on the kitchen door momentum and the conversation levels have dropped a decibel or two. It's a nice break.

Switching to decaff on my last trip will hopefully keep me strong for the later hours. The taste has dropped but you get what you pay for I suppose.

An Eggs Benedict is carried over to the guy on the laptop and he begins a conversation with what seems to be the shift manager. Sounds like one of them is searching for something but I don't want to focus too hard and appear nosey. My right ear isn't the strongest anyway so I'd only be guessing if I did try. A bit of laughter between the two before the manager retreats to the kitchen. As I glance over the fella asks if I've tried the eggs in here. A head shake as I sip my latte is all I can muster at that moment. Oh, they're lovely, and it's cheaper than McDonald's. Can't argue with that, I reply. There's a sense of more to come from this fella, and sure enough I don't have to wait long for the floodgates to open.

He introduces himself as Gil and immediately asks my name in return whilst waving an imaginary handshake. Been coming here everyday for the past two months he exclaims. Haven't told the missus I got laid off. Too embarrassing. I assure him it's a tough world at the moment but I have faith in him. After a few minutes of him telling me how many jobs he's applied for and how much debt he's in I feel like we've made a real connection. People just need someone to listen to them sometimes, and I've got all day for this. Two ears, one mouth as the old saying goes.

A staff member comes around to collect the breakfast menus from the tables. Gil informs me this is when the pub comes alive. You start getting the heavy drinkers and gamblers in around dinnertime. I'll have a couple of pints myself he says. The missus is going to pilates tonight and I've told her I'm having a few after work while I watch the match. She's pretty good with my midweek scoops, she never used to be in the beginning like! I give a laugh of agreement and things couldn't be going any better. I'm not from around here by the way, he says. Got to get the last train back at half eleven, so don't you be keeping me out. I laugh again but tell him I can't stay out, I've got pilates myself tonight. We both laugh as a San Miguel is brought to his table. Keep your eyes on this one, the lady informs me. Not to be trusted! Gil loves the attention and good luck to him, nothing can knock your confidence more than being out of work.

As sure as night follows day, the chimes of midday bring about a couple of new characters to proceedings. A small fella wearing hi-viz trousers and a work stained fleece enters the fray with a world weary looking old fella carrying a slight limp to his step. They order loudly and are welcomed into the regulars area with the love and kindness of a mother returning successfully to her wolf pack.

I hadn't noticed before but half of the televisions are showing the news whilst the other half has the horse racing on. The one nearest to me had the news on, just assumed they all did. Now I understand the crowd of regulars at the front of the pub. Orwell knew.

With the arrival of the new crowd, Gil folds away the laptop and remarkably changes his shoes for a comfier, trainer option. A request to put his bag behind the bar is granted and he invites me over to sit nearer the action with him. Feeling like a cross between Donnie Brasco and Donal McIntyre at this point.

We take a table one behind the frontline and Gil is straight over with a handshake and some horse racing chat to the group. Apparently, one let them down in the Lucky 15 yesterday. Talk carries on about today's racing and which horses are fancied. I take a backseat and focus out of the window. It's still raining heavily, people are running for cover. I could get used to this.

A woman in her early thirties sits down next to me in what would be Gil's seat and asks if I need any Lenor or coffee. Feel like I'm on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. Are these my only options, I wonder. Nah, I'm okay you kn.. She moves on to another table before I have chance to finish my sentence. What a strange question. OI, YOU, OUTTTT, comes a voice from behind the bar. The young woman puts up an "any need" defence before scurrying out. One of the older fellas frantically enquires about steak but I don't hear a reply as the opening of the door drowns out her voice.

By this point I've made a switch to drinking tea. It's definitely hotter and the caffeine in the lattes was starting to give me a headache if I'm honest. A fella by the name of Ronnie comes over to us as we face the racing on the television. My mate owns a horse in the three o'clock at Carlisle, today's the day. What's it called, we ask. He gives us the name and Gil looks it up on his phone. Eight to one he says, came second last time. Got an extra furlong today but ran on strong it says here. Wanna go a fiver each? I hadn't planned on spending more than the coffee money today I thought to myself. When in Rome, I suppose. Yeah, let's have a go of this. I tell Gil I'll have to run the cash point to pay him. I'll come with you, he says. We'll throw it on in the bookies.

The fellas keep an eye on my bag as we slip out to put the bet on. The cash point is a little further than the betting shop so Gil suggests I meet him in the shop after I withdraw the cash. Sideways rain hits me as I punch in my pin. It's only dispensing twenty pound notes. One of them will do. Hurry up. Raindrops hit me like falling water balloons. Back to the betting shop and Gil's beaming. I got us ten to one, it's into sevens now. The enthusiasm makes it feel like we're already winning. I go to hand him the money and he says he doesn't have change. Just buy us a pint in there. Yeah, no worries. One of the lads aren't I?

She was gonna take your cup there, son. You not drinking? Nice that one of the regulars was looking out for my cup while I was gone. No mate, I'm on the coffees, got work in the morning. So've I, he laughs. Then everyone laughs. You haven't done a day's work since you were a postman for that morning in '97, comes a voice from the pack. A community laugh descends after that pearler.

The volume has risen considerably from the morning crowd as Ronnie can be seen rocking back and forth. Five minutes to the off and I think he's got the weight of the pub on his shoulders. The commentator goes through the runners one last time and notes that our horse is into four to one. We're certainly moving the market today. And they're off..

A near silence fills our side of the pub as total attention is given to the race. The jockey has anchored our hope at the back of the eight runner field. Gil assures me this is a good thing. Wait at the back and finish strongly through tired horses. I agree, it seems as good a plan as any. All the horses are going well at this point, the commentator confirms. They pass the winning line with a full circuit to go and the jockey on our mount is looking confident, I think. He's statuesque, so I'm thinking that's good. I feel the hairs on my neck stand up as I edge forward in my seat. A couple of horses have started going backwards as the pace seems to increase with five fences left to jump.

A flick of the reins and our boy has edged up to third and he's going as well as anything it seems. Four out, he pings it. The front two are going well about three lengths ahead as we looked to have dropped the rest of the field behind. This is so exciting, I'm rocking my head with the stride of the horse. Three out, another ping. We gain a length on the front two and one of them looks like he's getting tired. The jockey seems to agree and begins pushing him for more effort. We're still cruising and glide into second past the weary horse. Just one length down with two to jump. We're gaining slowly. Both horses come to the fence and our hope is steadied into it. He loses a little ground upon landing but the jockey is still oozing confidence. The leading jockey begins to push his mount as both approach the last. We're right back level as the two horses leave the ground as one. It's like slow motion as I stare at the television. My brain is so invested in this, the motivating shouts from the lads next to me have hit fever pitch. Both horses land on the other side of the obstacle as their jockeys begin to gather in the reins for one last big effort. We've edged ahead coming away from the fence as our jockey is in the full drive position. One length, two lengths, the other horse has waved the white flag. A hundred yards to go, exclaims the commentator. We're five lengths clear. Absolute scenes as the fellas jump up in unison. Fist pumps aplenty. A banner goes up across the bottom of the screen declaring our horse the winner. What a feeling.

Ronnie is absolutely jubilant and relieved all in the same expression. What a fella.

I join in the handshakes myself this time. I don't even know what's carried me to this state. What a rush.

Ronnie declares the next beers are on him. A few lads argue and say they'll get him one for the tip. He's having none of it though and heads straight to the bar. Another of the gang comes over to me and tells me Ronnie got eighteen to one for the horse last night. Hundred quid on the nose. Unbelievable, couldn't be happier for him.

I need a sit down. I'll grab Gil's pint that I owe him before I do though.

Approaching the bar when Ronnie hands me two San Miguel. One for you and one for The Fish. The Fish? Gil-he drinks like one. I give out a laugh and tell him that's going in the notebook when I get home. Nice one for the beers mate.

There's no rules saying I can't have a pint during my hot drink challenge. I'm not cheating myself, am I?! Let's embrace the rest of this day, we'll consider the morals tomorrow.

Sitting down I hand over the pint to Gil and tell him it's off Ronnie. Obviously, he shouts over immediately to thank him. With that he turns to me and pays out the fifty quid winnings. Forget the pint, here's your lot. I'll collect from the shop later. We clank our glasses together with a natural cheers. I could get used to this escaping real life more often. Fifty quid up and I haven't laid out an actual penny, am I one of the lads now?!

A couple of the fringe fellas start edging home. I respect that. An afternoon pint or two and a little chatter keeps the brain ticking over. The main door still keeps opening and closing with faces heading in and out. This microcosm I find myself in is truly fascinating.