retiredmartin

June 2024. Chandlers Ford.

Childhood home ticked, posh Sunday lunch skipped, I headed to the western suburbs of Chandler’s Ford for a roast and a GBG tick. See ! I am still getting an occasional Guide tick !

What even is Chandler’s Ford ? It can’t be a suburb of anywhere, too big for that (21,436 souls, though Wiki calls it “a largely residential area and civil parish in the Borough of Eastleigh“. 

To add variety to the local GBG scene (one crafty micro), we now have a suburban Wadworth diner hidden in the woods. Makes a difference from Marstons, though keep reading.

They’d laid on a bouncy castle ahead of FIL’s 86th birthday, but despite MIL’s preference for the sun,

we opted for the conservatory.

I’d blooming booked a table (it’s as bad as a taster) and I was going to use it, as Fuzzbox sang in 1986.

You know the score; marched into the conservatory, pause to examine the pumps,

pointlessly, as there’s only one option.

“It’s 6X you want” I say, my Alpha Male to the fore.

They still ask what beers there are, forcing the “server” to trot off to check the pumps, and then we all have 6X.

Well, Mrs RM gets the pint. It’s cool, rich and gorgeous (3.5), and in fairness the roast is just as good.

An eclectic soundtrack goes from “Bang on the ear” to “Dirty ‘Ol Town” to this 1980 classic.

I have Stacey’s LP and I’m not selling it.

FIL is amused by the “Swordfish infused” sticky toffee pudding, and I have to explain Swordfish is a beer.

It’s probably the best banter of the trip.