retiredmartin

 

I won’t lie.  My heart sank when I came to the next tranche of photos and I realised I’d have to start writing about micro pubs again. Partly because there’s not an obvious “M” word you can bung in to your blog title. “Morose” ?, “Mediocre” ?,  “Middle-aged” ?.  All could be true but might be a bit mean.

So Mercian it is, and Mudge and Mudgie can argue about the geographical niceties.

I should apologise to Paul M as well for not meeting up in Staffordshire, but one of the mind-numbing motorway closures dogging my year meant this was a last minute substitution, a Ya Ya Toure of a pub tick.

It’s a lovely approach to Gnosall, home of a rare tick in west Staffs, only tempered by the knowledge that a certain 6X-dispensing canalside pub was only five miles north-west.

It’s a pleasing Staffs village, with five pubs including the two by the canal, a club and a Chinese takeaway, plus some ancient timber.

The George & Dragon at least looks in keeping with the village (it was formerly a former dwile flonking outfitter), but still flaunts its micro status as readily as a plastic football fan flaunts his half-and-half scarf.

But…

It’s rammed.  The whole village is in there, and they’re not all older than me. And they make space at the bar to let me see some ace lacings, those contemptible jam jars and a beer I’ve heard of.

Big bags of scratchings, too.

A mini version of the Dove, and you know what I think of that one.

In short, a professional operation.

The Holdens was decent,  but a bit end of the barrel.

“That looks a bit end of the barrel” said the Landlord  “D’you want me to change it ?”

Well, I thought that was great.  As it happened, I couldn’t be bothered and I’m no fan of standing in pubs. Even one as good as this.