Sadly, it’s already getting tricky to take Mrs RM to lunch at a new Guide pub less than an hour away. With new entries ticked off in surrounding counties, we needed a trip to deepest Lincolnshire (which is all of it).
It didn’t take much selling. Possibly it was the attraction of a walk in Ordnance Survey 247 land, probably it was because I was driving.
It doesn’t look a village to support two pubs, and the recent GBG Fox looked very sad indeed.
As you’ll deduce from the contours, this isn’t completely flat, but it’s not Bronte country either. The Green Man is on the edge of the old John Smiths estate, which pretty much ended in industrial Peterborough.
Pints of John Smiths don’t keep village pubs open, and the Green Man has converted the lounge into a café that opens at an astonishingly early 11am.
Now, it may be a bit twee, and the talk is of probate and grandchildren eased out of will rather than Kane and Tom Petty, but I’ll take that all week long if it means village pubs can stay open during the day.
In fact, the Green Man is local Pub of the Year, serving a decent range of beers (one you’ve heard of, a local one you’ll try for a change). You had to climb up and down several flights of steps to get to the handpumps in the public bar, but I persevered.
Mrs RM, beer taster today, noticed it wasn’t Brew Dog, but rated it highly enough.
But it’s the owners I want to praise, unfailingly polite and unpatronising to a group of elderly gentlefolk wanting a bit of advice over the (excellent) menu.
Mrs RM, assuming a BRAPA role, pointed out the tendency of elderly folk to read out all the items on the menu.
“Oooh. They’ve got Partridge Casserole, Brian.”
“Can I have another sausage instead of tomatoes. I don’t like tomatoes. Wonder why I grow them“.
Yes, it’s polite society. Yes, they were playing Ed Sheeran. And yes, I would have liked a pint of John Smiths Cask. But it was serving the village’s needs, and I can’t say more for a pub than that.