A new development in Mrs RM’s plans (and presumably mine) this week, as she explored motorhome options in a Newark showroom. I’ve always wanted to live in a motorhome. We could base it midway between Preston and Stockport, here for example;
You haven’t experienced life till you’ve experienced Skem, and they’re bound to be the first place to get the revived Greenalls keg beer. Blog post to follow.
Newark is a perfectly pleasant town, though its pub status took a dip alongside those of basic John Smiths houses like the Castle and Falcon, around the time cask Johns moved out of Tadcaster.
Otherwise, It’s the epitome of a handsome market town.
I can never quite work out how well-off it is. There’s a Waitrose, antiques shops and proper restaurants on the one hand, but discount shops, downbeat suburbs and Pound Pubs on the other. That’s a combination I like.
We had lunch in the Vaults, one of a clutch of new Beer Guide entries I was impressed by last year. It’s micro in size only, as otherwise it’s a proper smartish cellar bar with excellent food, and a drinks range including to Carling, Stowford Press and a craft keg.
It’s cider range is particularly impressive, and the beers cover the range of styles.
I upset Mrs RM by ordering the worthy veggie chickpea and pepper stew and she was then too embarrassed to go for the burger so copied me. Her excellent plum cider and the Navigation she nicked off me made up for it. A lovely, healthy home-made meal in an attractive pub, albeit a little dark and with weird beer glasses.
You really need an overnight stay for Newark, whose range of pubs is one of the widest I’ve seen in a mid-sized town, one that benefits from outposts of the better pub chains like Blue Monkey and Tynemill, as well as a fair few independents.
Newark seems to have smartened itself up quite a bit in the last few years, and acquired some proper town facilities. The tourist trails show willing even if your interest in the Civil War is less than zero. I like the free wander round the castle ruins, though the river views are a little scarred by car parks.
The real history was buried deep in the stairwells of the infamous Wing Tavern, lost to us a decade ago but never forgotten. A legendary Theatkstons stronghold.
We popped in the Prince Rupert, but we were too busy to stop. It was impressively bustling for a Wednesday lunchtime. We can vouch for the pizzas, and to a lesser extent their beer.
It’s a really gorgeous building, strongly reminiscent of the Stamford’s Tobie Norris from the same Knead stable.
The pub memorabilia is of a higher class here though;