I’ve only just noticed the tin cans in that sign. They’re probably Adnams cans; you get a higher class of litter lout in West Suffolk.
A rare trip without a Beer Guide tick, this was purely to give Mrs RM and myself some professional experience in maneuvering our campervan, with the objective of not hitting things, a noble objective.
Destination Acton, a dormitory village for Sudbury, home of Gainsborough and oddly basic pubs. The village itself was once home to the UK’s richest man, whose death sparked a legal case lasting 117 years and inspiring Dickens (it says).
Acton manages to be both staggeringly pretty (even without my new-found filter) and pleasingly plain.
Parked up outside Acton Village Hall, the patient man recommended by Kompetent Karavanners (I made that up) took over my mansplaining duties for a while, mouthing “Stop !”, “Handbrake !!”, and “Not the Coldplay CD !!!” as we whizzed round the honeypot villages of West Suffolk. Lavenham looked lovely.
The Crown didn’t look that lovely, the front scarred by tradesmen’s vehicles and ladders as we contemplated a pint. It’s the sort of pub you always want to be there, but will inevitably be the subject of a protest about its closure in the future, hordes of villagers bussed back from Wetherspoons standing outside for a photo in the EADT and a caption saying “Popular pub under threat“.
Yes, it’s a Proper Pub, with all-day opening for 1,800 residents and a limited food trade.
Just two beers !
Mrs RM seemed more stressed than I was, so I had a pint of soda while she sunk a quick pint of Golden Hen (#PubWoman) that was cool to the touch and clearly did the job.
Lovely staff, £3.70 a pint (assuming the soda was free), and a soundtrack of the Cardigans. What more do you want ?
And that ultimate mark of a Proper Pub, the photo of the Darts team from 1975.
Not THE Alan Border, I guess.