In fact, whenever I see someone defend them,they always start “It’s a great pub, they always have a dozen beers on“. There you go then.
And credit where it’s due, revitalising tired pubs and providing a platform for their own excellent beers (or at least they are excellent where they sell).
In a way, they’re the exact opposite of the giant Ember Inns chain, where beer is consistent and character nonexistent.
It’s a corker of a pub, all nooks and crannies and pub life, full of paint-splattered tradesmen, old boys and post-work couples.
Mrs RM found a table where her feet would touch the floor and her eyes could survey the breadth of the pub,
and asked me for some evil craft keg.
That strategy lasted the ten minutes it took her to down the Tiny Rebel Puft, which rather dimmed her critical faculties.
I’d opted for the last beer pulled, which happened to be the Oakham Bishop’s Farewell, which happened to be nectar (NBSS 4.5). Not for the first time in the history of Oakham. My notes say “sherbert” and “Sonoma“, which mean nothing now.
Not much beats a great beer served by cheery staff in a bustling pub with bench seating.
With Mrs RM’s observational capacities dimmed, I had to take matters into my own hands and chat to some folk. Two old boys were drinking the Bass. I hadn’t see the Bass.
“Is the Bass here good, then ?”
“Oh, yes, and the Elms”
“Even better in the Conservative Club,you know. Steve Davis was there the other week (snookering rather than DJ-ing)”
“Can we go in the Conservative Club, Mrs C ?”