Any excuse for some Kiwi/Polynesian pop/rap crossover.
This was the tune that stuck in the brain after I popped back to the Royal, before realising I’d forgotten to get a Chinese takeaway.
They don’t write them like that anymore. Weirdly, that track from 1996 (where were you in 1996 ?) was the most contemporary thing I heard all night. Until Ed.
Anyway, last knockings from a Thursday in Morecambe, a last knocking too far but at least it gave me one last glance at the magical Bay.
I have no idea why I felt the need to return to the Morecambe Hotel while I waited for my salt and pepper chicken from Jumbo (A-). Perhaps it was the lure of these fellas;
But I think it was because I was keen to tell you how cask was holding up in the Summer of ‘
The Morecambe, a boutique hotel on Lord Street (Morecambe’s Lord Street), was winding down for the evening, leaving just the Prosecco Ladies of Lunesdale.
I couldn’t get a steer on cask choice from them, but luckily there were only two on, so I had a 50% chance in the beer lottery.
Now which one would you go for, the Aussie-themed Otter or the World Cup-themed Holt, presumably in the pumps since England crashed out ?
Well, the Otter was dire, unfortunately, and coupled with a burst of “Galway Girl” that caught me unawares, I decided to reappraise my positive view from last year.
But the Otter was changed instantly, with good grace, and on the patio (Ed Sheeran free) I enjoyed a Holt as cool and hoppy as anything I’ve had from Manchester’s finest (NBSS 4). On balance, it retains the coveted two tick status on the retiredmartin spreadsheet.
Back to Jumbo to pick up a container of frightening heat and then home.
Of course, you can’t legally walk past an open Wetherspoons, particularly one disfigured with scaffolding and no customers.
The White Witch, with my first Spoons voucher of the year, was well worth the exorbitant £1.39 a pint (NBSS 3), but Spoons lacked BRAP-level drama.
And thence to bed, via the wool shop.