I can’t match BRAPA for disappointment, though if he will do all those dreadful Cheshire GBG pubs what can you expect.
But I’m definitely getting lots of opportunities to be grumpy, whether it’s due to opening hours, the failure of the Government to force people to drink cask, or uncontrolled dogs.
Plenty of the latter two in the Cotswolds last Tuesday.
A fairly grey lunchtime in Moreton-in-Marsh, but then this is England in April.
As the Baedecker Guide to Britain of 1997 Ch5 v2 so beautifully puts it;
“And ye, Moreton-in-Marsh, though small and traffic clogged, are not least amongst the towns of Ye Olde Cotswolds. For unto ye shalt come a mammoth street market full of beige clothes and blue rinsed pensioners in coaches“.
I can only assume that the Cotswolds lacks a decent Marks & Spencers, so great were the number of stalls selling blouses and undergarments. It’s not posh.
The golden stone did its best to shine through the gloom.
The streets were lined with gentlefolk eating chip butties from the Mermaid Fish Bar, which makes a change from the usual Cotswolds dining experience.
For years the Guide entry here has been a homely Marston’s pub, but it’s all change this year.
But the new entry is not the Donnington house,
or the micro bar that hasn’t yet got onto WhatPub.
No, the Bell is an authentic smart Cotswold all-rounder, suitable for canines of all ages and breeds. Perhaps less suitable for humans that don’t like dog saliva*.
In contrast to my last market town local in Witney recently, the Bell was a haven for gourmets (Smoked Bibury Trout Pate, Crème Fraiche, Chive Dressing, Salad Leaves & Sundried Tomato Bread) and “Ladies who Latte“, and my beer was always going to be the first one pulled.
And also the first to be spilled, as I tripped spectacularly over a couple of hounds fighting at the bar. At £4.40 a pint, it’s not a beer you want to be spilling.
The owners looked at each other despairingly, as if to say “What can I do ?”
I took the seat furthest away from the entertainment.
It looks like the best drop of Landlord you’ve ever had. It wasn’t that good, but cool and creamy enough for an NBSS 3+. Beer first, always.
But all I could think about was dogs squabbling at the entrance. This one below at by the door, blocking the entry of customers.
“He won’t move !” squealed the lady owner who should have known better.
The most inconsiderate adult behaviour I’ve seen in a pub since the bloke in front of me in Spoons drank the last pint of Bass.
*Before any of you ask, I’ve never been licked by a cat. Or a child.