This may be a short post as I’m waiting for Mrs RM to arrive back at Stansted, her bottle of Elvis Juice chilling in the fridge.
The Plough at Coldharbour in the heart of the Surrey Hills was one of those pubs that I was sure I’d been to before. Duncan and Simon will know this feeling; there’s probably a BRAPA acronym for it. I think it’s just because this is one of those destination pubs that are regulars in the Good Pub Guide (spit), Barbour Jacket Monthly and Pashmina Chronicle, all actual publications in Surrey.
I’ve certainly walked this bit of the Mole Valley, in the days when I wasted money on National Trust membership before realising it was all just old houses. I even did the Friday Street gastropub last year. On a Sunday. I never learn.
A tiny bit of mud was clearly putting off the ramblers from walking here, but not me.
But the Plough was new to me, if not Pubmeister.
It being a Tuesday afternoon rather than a Sunday, there were real people in the Plough. You can see all of them bar one (and a dog) in this photo.
Any guesses what’s in the plastic container ?
Oh good ! More local beers.
They weren’t bad, and decently kept (NBSS 3), but I bet the chap below (staging a sitdown protest against the absence of Bass) wasn’t impressed.
Pleasant enough, with some polite Paul Simon tunes and chat about lambing, but the highlight came on the way back to Dorking, when I stopped to photograph the street art.
Turns out the anti-fracking camp, who looked for all the world like they were filming the overdue 3rd series of (New) Survivors, don’t like media. I escaped intact, you’ll be pleased to know, to delight you with Oxshott tomorrow.