It was a long, drab walk out from Peterborough Station to Werrington and (oddly) a long walk back, so I merited a second beer.
BRAPA had been here a week ago, so I consulted our Pub oracle for advice;
I decided to give it a go. Excitingly, the Cock wasn’t shown as open on What Pub yet. It might be a corker. If nothing else, it’d take me one step closer to visiting all the pubs in Cambridgeshire, a noble aim.
Werrington (skilfully obscured by the Cock Inn label above) is one of the many “interesting to the purist” little villages that break up the massive blobs of 60s Posh housing. It was my first visit in 20 years, and was
Here’s the potted highlights, including a decent Elgood’s pub and a bloke with Wiggins sideburns wearing a 1976 England Admiral tracksuit and riding a Raleigh chopper.
Then at last, the Cock.
“Haunted by Fred” – yawn.
“Built in 1418” – yawn.
“Sharing menu” – yawn.
The exciting refurb had knocked the character out, of course, but at least it was bustling with life and there was no food being served.
At the bar, a young barmaid was being taught the ropes by a Northern Irish lady. Coincidentially, Northern Ireland’s men were being given a lesson in finishing by the Bosnians in the day’s big Nations League clash (I read).
Encouragingly, blokes were blocking the view of the ultra rare ale. But one of them had just ordered a Pride, and wasn’t pulling too many faces.
The new girl had never pulled a pint before, but did a frankly decent job, just enough tight head (I know Mark appreciates this detail).
My shot is a bit too arty to do it justice, but you can see the frothy head.
I found a spot near the second of two ancient fireplaces, with a perfect view of the comical second Bosnian goal, and reflected on the joy of an ordinary pub. “Fernando“, “Harvest for the World“, it was the 1977 that punk never touched.
Sadly, what started off as an NBSS 3 deteriorated into a 2 half-way, which is pretty much what I expected. Perhaps I should have had a big slice of the Victoria Sponge they were selling at the bar to pair with it.
You could’ve been in a small Cheshire town, and I don’t mean that in a good way.
Gemma was wrong, BRAPA was right. Again.