The Plough deserved a post, but that’s the best I could do for a title.  Hope you like it, you’ll never have heard of Snorscombe Mill.  Here it is, tucked beneath Everdon, which everyone knows.


I took Mrs RM out for lunch in Daventry. I know how to etc. etc. etc.  

You’ll remember Daventry, where I cruelly and erroneously slammed the climate change street art of 7 year old Tommy.


Culinary options are a little limited in town, so we headed for Everdon, by massive coincidence our last Northamptonshire GBG tick.

Northants Complete, as the French would say

Possibly not a beer desert, but WhatPub reveals a fair sized area of nothingness between Dav, Badby and famed coach stop Weedon.

Everdon WhatPub

Quite a contrast with the big town, this is a village where the only street art is the 14th Century tracery in St Philips.


It’s a startlingly pretty village, with views from the pub I couldn’t do justice to.  Badby has the  bluebells, but Everdon is the evidence that Northants is our most underrated county.

The walk to Snorscombe Mill was uneventful apart from the cows surveying Mrs RM, and the village deserted.


Quite a contrast to the Plough.


Run by the local farmer, whose Dad (I think) maintains high standards at the bar.  Mrs RM rated the Gun Dog highly (NBSS 3.5), a later local Gin even higher.


The bar area is homely and relaxing, if a bit chintzy, rather like the Ropsley survivor.


In a village of 356, the entire OAP population have made the pub their Sunday home, which I like.  It mirrors the way a younger village on the other side of Northampton keep their pub going.

I don’t think this bit of the country gets much gastro-pub tourism.  It’s too far for the Northampton crowd, who have Beefeater anyway, and Home Counties pashmina wearers head over the M40 beyond Banbury.



Their loss.  The roast beef, from the farmer’s herd, was wonderful.  Photos from Mrs RM on request. The least gastro place on earth.

Outside, a local Old Boy regaled me with tales from March.  There’s a lot of tales about March.


    1. “Your Transatlantic readers are going to start thinking you’re making up these place names ”

      Can’t speak for the others, but I’ve been thinking that for a while now. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  1. When I was courting Mrs Professor Pie-Tin I had a house in London and a country place out West.
    The first time we motored out of the smoke together in my MGBGT heading to the countryside we passed a sign saying Upper Feltham which prompted me to reach over and give her heaving bosom a gentle squeeze before saying ” I’ve already been there. ”
    A short while later we approached a sign saying Lower Feltham.
    ” Me too ” she said,playfully grabbing my crotch and nearly causing me to prang the car.
    It was at that moment I realised I had found a mate for life.
    We’ve passed the signs many times since in our 30 years together and we still follow the same routine and laugh about it.
    Even our now grown-up kids got in on the joke when they were younger before cringing about it in their teens.
    Happy silly days.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. “Here it is, tucked beneath Everdon, which everyone knows.”

    Suuuure we do.

    “by massive coincidence our last Northamptonshire GBG tick.”

    Coincidence? I think not! 🙂

    And once again, well done for the folks of such a small village keeping the pub a going concern.


    PS – “It’s a startlingly pretty villages,”

    Villages? Has it cloned itself? 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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