retiredmartin

 

You’ll know how I love an accommodation bargain.  Not much chance of that in York, where £30 will buy you a night in BRAPA’s man-shed* (if you wash up), but a great deal at the Jolly Sailor in Cawood on the Ouse.  Just 387,000 Wetherspoons plates stacked end-to-end from Selby.

It’s a particularly pretty village, far enough from York to not be insufferably smug, but with enough beauty spots (and pubs) to justify a day trip. “The Windsor of the North” said Arthur Mee in “The King’s England“, perhaps over-gilding the lily a little.

Of course, any village with a “Nickey Nackey Lane” is worth a night of your life, and people queued up to say “Good evening stranger” as I walked the bounds.

Only one obvious shop, doubling as Post Office, café and probably local Sheriff’s court.

But three pubs, with the Jolly Sailor the most boozy of the lot.

It reminds me a bit of the cheery local I stayed in for £30 in Huddersfield, geared up for locals, with a side room dedicated to feeding the village’s toddlers on Saturday teatime, leaving the games room free for cricket on TV.

Not a classic front bar, but a cheery one, with relaxed family atmosphere and a slight feeling of chaos about to erupt.

After the landlady had resolved a problem with the booking that could have led to BRAPA-level confusion, I asked the inevitable question;

“Which of your homebrew beers are selling fastest then mate ?”

That head above belonged to the recommended house beer, something blonde and cool and less than £3, which is all you need. I suspect the pump clip is sexist but I couldn’t get close enough to check.

It was 25 degrees (I think it still is) so I took the pint into the garden to enjoy the Camerons ash tray and a pint that got better and better. NBSS 3.5+.  Oddly, the WhatPub entry is sparse; Cawood really must be the dark side for York CAMRA.

By now it was 7pm, and with no cinema/bowling alley/chippy/dwyle flunking about, and the village explored, there was nothing to do but revisit the longstanding GBG pub.

It’s not posh, either, with the sense of a village pub making the most of the World Cup until England get knocked out by Croatia.

A pint of Landlord had just been pulled, which made my choice easier than normal.

Cool, sherberty, complex and with a sensational head, the Landlord was just what you want from a Saturday night pint while you’re waiting for your burger (NBSS 3.5).

Oddly, at 8pm on a Summer Saturday I was the only diner, the pub and riverside garden packed with blokey drinkers.  Eventually a couple of family groups joined me in the dining area which had excellent views of the “action”.

A decent enough burger, though the “We Want Plates” lobby may not agree.

Two proper village pubs with top beer.  They do still exist.

It was a good nights sleep, with decent WiFi compensating for the slightly unnerving sense of being too close to Selby.

In the morning I resisted the sweets cabinet in the Post Office-cum-Café. Just about.

 

*This isn’t even true. Please don’t go round BRAPA mansion at No.57 Chulmleigh Mews, YORK with £30.