I could be clever and seamlessly lump two trips to Doncaster in a week together, but as least one of you has a brain and would notice some continuity flaw or other, I’ll stick to chronology.
Ah, Doncaster. How you’ve changed. Flashy town hall and theatre, Premier Inn (full on Saturday night) and what can only be described as a “cleansing” of the infamous bus station.
Some things remain, though.
Every time I visit Donny I promise myself I’ll visit the Plough again.
But not today. Today it’s the pub at the newly shiny railway station, which seems to be accessible only via the less than exciting Frenchgate shops, where I bought a lead to connect my phone to my infamous charger. Pleasingly, the town centre is bustling, even if they are all queueing for chicken and chips from Crawshaws.
TheDraughtsman (Draftsman to Americans) is small but perfectly decorated.
OK, it’s not quite the Stalybridge Buffet but I can’t think of many better station bars without the word Tap in them.
And they do proper homemade soup, spicy pumpkin out of the pot.
A good pint of Chin Chin (no idea) Belgian Pale was recommended as I asked for a recommendation, perfectly matched with pumpkin soup like the beer sommelier I am.
No-one visits Doncaster by train, and there was only one other couple to compare “Mmmm” noises with. Bet it was crowded on race day.
Anyway, proper seating and a lovely way to while away a half hour trying to find a way to get to Thorne (I failed).
Little did I know I’d be back within a week.