A bit of a rush of posts at the moment as I want to keep up to date, otherwise people get bewildered. And I can’t be held responsible.
Next stop, a bit of genuine minor English tourism.
The Dukeries don’t feature much on this blog, just one incredibly dull post from my first month as retiredmartin, reminiscing about the old colliery pubs around Welbeck Abbey. They’re still there, the Mansfield livery slowly fading.
I’d never been to Creswell Crags. Another gorgeous day in our extended Summer seemed like a perfect time, the proximity of new Beer Guide pub at Cuckney a mere coincidence.
Atmospheric and eerie, the Crags won’t be taking over from Andover’s street art as the nation’s favourite attraction, but they’re better than the old rocks a bit further down the A303.
It’s a bit like walking round the lake at Stourhead, except it doesn’t cost £18.30 and you don’t bump into many folk wearing pashminas, just loads of dragonflies.
At a push, I’d say the Grand Canyon pips it for awesomeness. Mainly because it’s got Bass.
You may bump into a lady banging her drum in front of every cave to wake bats or celebrate the solstice or summat. Here’s a short video of banging lady (not actual name).
Perhaps they were looking for potential sites for future micro pubs. The cluster of small towns above Mansfield Woodhouse is clearly ripe for a micro explosion.
The circuit walked off about 87 calories, not quite enough to justify the pint in the Greendale, but it’s the thought that counts.
Cuckney is a tiny village displaced from Rutland, a gastropub with folk in horsey gear having earnest conversations about childcare arrangements and Prosecco swaps.
I took against it before I reached the bar.
After Creswell, I’d hoped for “She Bangs the Drums“. Instead Kool & The Gang are singing “Joanna“, placing the pub in exactly June 1984. Exactly where it should be.
There’s far too many beers, of course*, but at least you’ve heard of them.
I should have had Tiger, but felt sympathy for the XB, which probably hasn’t been pulled all day. Never feel sorry for a beer.
It was awful, tepid rubbish. I didn’t take it back. I failed CAMRA. But really, what were my chances of the other ones being better ? And how long would it have taken the barman to find someone senior to authorise a replacement ? It’s a lottery.
Grumpy retiredmartin is back.
*Read this. It’s brilliant.