We’re staying wild in Conwy tonight in our campervan. The Americans we met tonight call it “Boondogging“, which sounds like a cross between something unmentionable and a Marston’s beer.
What a gorgeous place this is, particularly when you’re not paying £80 a night to stay here.
Down by the quayside, one pub was taking most of the afternoon custom.
With gentlefolk, Americans, bikers and boozers, it felt like a Bank Holiday Monday, rather than the quiet before the storm.
I can only assumes that Bangor and Prestatyn decant en masse to Conwy at the first sign of a blue sky.
The Liverpool, named after a group of 21st century coach attackers, looked rather splendid and pubby with most folk outside topping up their tans.
Unpretentiously touristy, I call it, and without any obvious afternoon food trade free to concentrate on selling well known lagers. And lesser spotted cask.
Ian Thurman’s seminal work on Bass outlets tells us that you’re more likely to spot Mikkeller’s Peter Paul & Mary on draft than Bass these days, so snap it up, folks.
Actually I’ve had better than this (NBSS 2.5); Mrs RM’s Exmoor was much cooler. She resisted the urge to say
“That Bass, it’s not all that”
Still, the pub had Fleetwood Mac and ELO and Springsteen, and fulfilled the role of Proper Pub rather better than the micro place next door.