A pub at 11am is a strange, oddly sombre place at the best of times. The crowd usually consists of hangover-nursing stragglers ordering a cooked breakfast after a big night out, the early starters getting the first pint in, and the older blokes who've just found a nice, relatively quiet place to get a cheap, relatively nice coffee with their newspapers.
On the morning of the Queen's funeral, at first glance, the Owain Glyndŵr pub in Cardiff didn't seem much different. Around 20 people sat around the fairly spacious city centre drinking spot as the funeral was shown on basically every screen (except for those bizarrely showing a cricket match between Sweden and Denmark) and the volume was cranked up high.
And in those moments where the music went quiet as the Queen's coffin was prepared for its procession to Westminster Abbey, the pub was deadly, unnaturally, silent. Even speaking up to order a coffee felt wrong.
