This is a post about irrational lust for a pub tick, the sort of obsession that only completists like BRAPA and the Pubmeister will recognise. Perhaps not quite the euphoria of the visit to the Anchor, Anchor. But close.
Patrick’s Bar wasn’t even my last tick in North-West Wales.
But it’s a town I left a year ago with a hole in my heart (and an unpinked gap in the GBG), as the eponymous owner was called away by other duties. Even the views over the Menai Strait couldn’t compensate that day.
So we made a special trip to Bangor for Patricks, Mrs RM allowing me 20 minutes while she ticked Tescos. It was further up the hill than I remember, which meant I only had 12 minutes in the pub. Mrs RM can be mean.
Patricks is a real Irish bar, one of very few in the Beer Guide. Watford used to have one that made the GBG selling Tetley and 6X years ago; obviously that sort of thing is illegal nowadays.
Very homely, though with a touch of “Tut & Shive” about the décor, to go with the actual (and rare) Tap & Spile down the hill.
“Are you Patrick ? I follow you on Twitter”
He looked a bit shocked. Or worried. But soon realised I wasn’t armed.
Pleasingly, it was ticking over with professional drinkers (no higher compliment) on a Saturday lunchtime a month before the students return, which meant the beer was in good nick.
I should have gone local, but succumbed to the Charrington IPA. As you can see, a beautifully presented pint in a place of high standards and low banter.
I can bring you a picture of the Gents, but for the ladies you’ll have to wait a while. Use your imagination. Or send me a pint of Bass.