June 2024. Portsmouth.
Mrs RM messaged me as I left the Vaults in pursuit of a third Pompey pint of the night, reminding me to bring back wine and chocolate. I didn’t need a third pint (but then Mrs RM didn’t need wine and chocolate, either), with my two newbies ticked, but I’d been chauffeuring octogenarians round childhood haunts all day like the dutiful son-in-law/husband I clearly am and deserved it.
And frankly I always feel obliged to revisit one of Southsea’s tiled gems on every Pompey perambulation, though the next two buildings weren’t pubs,
so I was almost back at the harbour when I suddenly gave in and said;
“Ah well, the Pembroke it is, then”.
Old Portsmouth’s classic single roomer, the most lively pub on a Sunday night just before the city was about to become the centre of attention during the D-Day commemorations.
Tonight, a fair few were here for the Bass that hadn’t impressed much back in 2015, when I wrote;
“The Bass is beautifully presented (NBSS 2.5), but has a bit of butterscotch about it too. Go for the Pride.“
Well, only last year I popped my head round the door, but they didn’t have Bass. And I didn’t go for Pride.
So tonight, sitting at the bar (only seat left) I make amends;
The glass is unexpectedly cool to the touch, the Bass rich and chewy (NBSS 3.5), the Pembroke feels the happiest place on earth.
And that’s mainly due to bar staff with a permanent smile on their face and banter with the Old Boys, and the joy of a mature (says he) crowd at the Sunday quiz, which seems to revolve entirely around weather.
“Which is statistically the wettest month ?“
“Which named storm starts with an “L” ?“
“What causes the Corealis effect ?“. You’ll know the answers.
I just knew that I couldn’t stay for a second pint of Bass, what with the offie closing in half an hour and a ferry back to Gosport to catch.
retiredmartin 