My Manx ticks complete, I could relax and enjoy the natural beauty of Man, while Martin (2) continued to ruthlessly hunt down GBG entries from the time Before Protz.
The west coast below Peel is as good as the British Isles gets, lacking only cheap Prosecco in a Wetherspoons.
While Maltmeister (Martin No.2) rushed round Peel on an accumulation spree, Duncan and I sought out stuff to fluff up our respective blogs.
Sure, there’s the pretty bay round the castle,
but it was the High Street that captivated us*.
A glorious run of tat shops awaited us, but as I stood outside one (which will remain nameless) merely freeing up space on my camera, an octogenarian rushed out, clearly thinking I was taking photos of her silver spoons.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING ?” “WHAT ARE YOU DOING ?”
This was the Royston Vasey moment, and you’ll know by know I rate Man highly so I don’t say that lightly.
Luckily, Duncan is an internationally accredited peacemaker and distracted our local shopkeeper by enthusing about her metallic badges.
Over a lunch of Manx Queenies at Tia’s Tearooms (recommended),
we caught up with a triumphant Martin (2) and then attempted to be among the first folk in the brand new Two Fellas micro.
Gloriously, the hours on What Pub are already out-of-date, surely a sign of a future Beer Guide cert. The beer and welcome were very good too, the décor a work in progress, the two toilets magnificent. Toilets matter, folks.
Sample banter;
“Next time you have asparagus, concentrate on the plate to toilet journey“.
All was well with the world.
But then, I stopped to admire the jumble sales on Market Street.
Octogenarian No.2 (she was probably 27) jumped out of the house, hissing “I SEE YA, I SEE YA” through blackened teeth. Surely she didn’t think I was nicking her Coldplay CD.
This time Duncan was out of sight, so I ran for the safety of our escape vehicle.
Next stop, St Johns, where Martin (2) had a café with a handpump (GBG 2016 I think) to tick, while Duncan and I admired Tynwald Hill.
Then I read the latest declaration of laws, attached to the famous post.
“No Manx citizen shalt import Coldplay CDs, on pain of ye birch“.
It all made sense.
*Inevitably, better photos on Duncan’s blog here.
retiredmartin 
I knew it had to happen, those two pump clips topped with a green crown.
But our friends at the Westgate Brewery must know that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
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I’m not contrary? Toilets do matter.
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But we need to know if Duncan’s Diner had an excellent craft keg offering, possibly Bass?
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“Contrary Head – named after Yorkshire’s top blogger”
Or maybe it’s so named because it doesn’t sound like Gaelic or Celtic or whatever. 🙂
“A glorious run of tat shops awaited us,”
Ok, obviously tat does not mean tattoo, right?
“Clear beer”
On the table, but not in hand. 🙂
“Overpriced by a quid”
Didn’t you say recently on another post that you find it hard to pass up CDs for a quid?
“Oldest parliament in the world”
That would explain why the hill is so small; worn down over the years.
Cheers
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Slim pickings in charity shop CD racks lately.
Tat must be a peculiarly English word. Use it for general clutter in houses (porcelain figures, pointless mirrors, badges etc).
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“Tat must be a peculiarly English word. Use it for general clutter in houses (porcelain figures, pointless mirrors, badges etc).”
Got it, good to know, thanks. 🙂
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“GBG entries from the time Before Protz” –Loved this. Use it a few more times, and then you can write “B. P.” as an abbreviation. 😉
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Yes, I had that in mind. That reference was absolutely true, mind, we were carrying GBG pages from the late ’80s onward. One former pubs looked like a haunted house !
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