A night in Morecambe before the ferry sails to the Isle of Man. What a wonderful life, as Eric would say. But then he didn’t have to contend with the WiFi in the Newport Spoons.
Morecambe gave me the chance to visit a real outlier, the Ship in Overton. No, I’d never heard of it either. It reminds me of those little Essex villages in the marshland north of Maldon.
From the seating in the porch onward, it’s a Proper Pub gem.
The bar is the architectural highlight, but the welcome is the key. I can even forgive it the “taster board”. Obviously I went for the very decent Lancaster Blonde.
Blokes talked football (proper football, not that groundhopping stuff), and a chatty Landlord seemed to be competing with that Old Swan guy for Guvnor of the month.
It’s a model village pub, but frankly it’s the coastline that is absolutely magical.
The hour long walk takes you past an ancient church, scary sheep, and scarier fisherman.
The views over to Glasson are quite magical, and poorly captured here.
The most peaceful hour of the week. All would change back in Morecambe.