On to Skegness, despite all the publicans we spoke to telling us we were mad.
“Why not stay in Lincoln/Alford/the Batemans Brewery?”
Well, we’d already paid our £33 to stay at the North Shore Golf Hotel, and the closing line from the gent at the Consortium micro clinched it;
“Your chances of getting run over by a mobility scooter by an old bloke in a moleskin fleece are high !”
Sure enough, Charles was nearly run over by a scooter at the hotel.
OK, it’s a golf buggy. Small difference.
We surveyed the vast array of ales at the 19th hole.
Our barman friend promised us an exciting guest (i.e. Batemans seasonal) was coming on later, so we set off north on our GBG tick hunt.
The Seathorne Arms is up there at the top of the map, next to the landstrip and about a billion caravans.
We could have got there in 15 minutes along the A52, but where’s the fun in that when you can walk along the beach ?
A great view out to the windmills at sea (and the Hunstanton coast), and a perilous walk over dead crustaceans and starfish.
As dusk descended we abandoned the beach and took a footpath past the 14th tee. It took half an hour to tip toe to the Seathorne, effectively the bar for Skegness Sands Holiday Village.
As soon as we saw the two mobility scooters we knew we were at a gem.
It’s more social club than fun pub, packed with retired gentlefolk, fluorescent jackets and girls with prosecco in a bucket. A proper pub.
But why is it in the Beer Guide, with it’s two Greene King beers ?
Because the beer was great, the only reason a pub should be in the Guide. The Heritage was cool and silky (NBSS 3.5), and flying out at £2.50 a pint. The Hen was going quicker.
And of course, as Charles noted, tremendous lacings.
A great start to Skeggy night, unless you hate R’n’B pumping out of TV secreens above your head. For five points, name that tune.