Home to Keynsham Humpy Tumps (I’m not making this up), Jacob Rees-Mogg and an old Cadbury factory now converted into posh housing. As they say, a heady mixture.
There’s also one of Young’s better pubs in the west,
a second-hand record shop playing “My Best Friend’s Girl“, and a faggot shop.
The big surprise was the sort of urban regeneration via cafes and flats normally only seen in Epsom,
Finally, to cap it all, cheesy chips. (In a box).
The A4 that now bypasses the town does it some favours, unclogging the dull High Street and making sure old folk don’t get mown down. Not that there were many folk in the High Street on Saturday morning.
They were probably all in my new Beer Guide tick (2017 edition, 2018 is embargoed, of course), across the road from the parish church.
In the shameful absence of a Spoons, the Bank had the 10am drinkers to itself; 6 at the bar and 4 out back smoking by 10 past.
And pints of cask were clearly being poured.
I leant over the bar to see which tap was dripping, jumped back when spotted, and went for the Otter. The red one.
It was decent (NBSS 3), though perhaps not as attractively presented as whatever was in the Courage glass. A 0.25 deduction for barrel seating.
It was a man’s pub, which is possibly the entirety of its GBG description in 1977. A chap came in and asked for a can of Natch, crestfallen to learn only the draught was available. Looking at the photos now I see the John Smiths dispensed from cans too.
A plain pub, in the sports bar style, set up for the fight between two old blokes later on that night, but with top quality bantz about asbestos, “Queensbury rules“, and overpaid sportsmen.
“You remember that old boy lived on flagons of cider and crisps ?” asked Old Boy 1.
“He lived well !” remembered Old Boy 2.
“He didn’t live long” confirmed Old Boy 3.