(Tom Peck’s article appeared in the Independent, 7/30.)

The door of the pub swings open and, not for the first time, in walks Micky Lay.In one hand he is holding a roll-up cigarette he hasn't bothered to extinguish. In the other is a Tony Award, still in its branded velvet bag, which he plonks on the bar. "Do what you fucking like with it," he announces. "I'm going for a piss."If you've never been to Pewsey, a Wiltshire village half way between Stonehenge and Wootton Basset, the chances are you've never met the notorious 71-year-old figurehead of its far-from-thriving pub scene, but thousands feel they know him


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