So I’m going to plug good pints of Pedi wherever I find them. Even outside Derby and Staffs, which sounds like sacrilege.
As the sun set on our West Wales Wobble, we pulled into Welford, an escape off the A14 of the highest order.
It’s not good to wobble when you’re driving a 6 metre campervan, but I assure you we aren’t responsible for the state of Postman Pat.
We edged our way into the Wharf, noting proximity to a vast greenish, wet substance at the foot of the car park.
Readers who are still alive may remember the Wharf from last year, when a perfect Summer’s day gave us this classic shot.
and the greatest line ever uttered in a pub garden;
“I am a little treasure. Lean on me”
No upper class brawls this time round, but still plenty of outside diners staring at me, all willing us to crash our campervan into someone else’s posh car. I gave up, and parked up the street on a scary slope.
At 1.30pm on an anonymous Thursday in May, the whole village was here, half of them at the bar.
Of course, when the only answer to the question “What can I get you ?” is “Pedigree please“, bar flies are less relevant.
And the lunch choice, from a short menu written in English, is equally simple.
“Oh, that’s GOOD” said Mrs RM, of the cool, fresh, chewy Pedi. My sole mouthful (from the top, not the dregs) rated it an NBSS 4, and confirms the Wharf as one of the best places to drink Marston’s second beer in the world. For the best, from the jug, you need the Amber Valley.
Two massive fish and chips for £13 isn’t shabby either. I’ll let you experts dissect the chips.
A village pub, just outside the village, with one of the highest beer sales you’ll see midweek in rural England. That’s what quality beer can do.
Yes, I resented Mrs RM’s enjoyment of the Pedi a little bit, but I’ll be back. We may not be able to stick our campervan in their garden, but there’s B&B, and a boat we can squat in.
Goodness knows where we’d end up in the morning.
One of the finest pubs in Northamptonshire. Or is it ? Study the map closely.