FROTH ON THE BEER

When I confidently called the completion of the Bucks section of the GBG last week I was, I’m sorry to say, premature.

GBG completists as great as Duncan and Simon will be familiar with the horror of an Erroneous Tick, in this case due to the belief that Penn was a suburb of Tylers Green, itself a suburb of High Wycombe, itself a suburb of Hell.

It turns out to be a village in its own right, worthy of note as home to Gabby Logan, no less.

The Red Lion, which I had to make a special trip for, is a Gabby Logan pub, which is fine.

I don’t generally like “civilised” pubs, but the closest you get to “anarchy” in Bucks is the queue for Wetherspoons coffee in their M40 branch, particularly when the mum of three gets queue-jumped by Fosters Man.

The Red Lion is exactly the civilised dining pub you expect. To be honest, after the journey along the pit-holed C-roads from hell, I was happy with a lack of drama.

I terrified the barmaid by asking for a half of the last beer pulled; goodness knows what she thought I said, and enjoyed a challenging half of Chiltern Beechwood by a terrifying fire.

Full marks for the frothiest pint (top) served in a southern pub this year, shame about the lack of banter from a Rotary club atmosphere. To be fair, the pub avoids looking like it’s completely geared up for dining.

The frisson of danger came on the way to the Gents, as a trio of darts missed my head by a matter of feet, propelled by a toddler in wellingtons. Whoever put a dartboard next to the toilet door deserves a BRAPA award. I tripped over another toddler on the way out of the loo as well. But I survived. Bucks is conquered.

5 thoughts on “FROTH ON THE BEER

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