Ain’t he cute ?
Seven pints later, he looked like this;
If that doesn’t put you off real ale, nothing will. Now you know the truth. I only give BRAPA lifts so I can plough the rich seam of blog material he leaves us.
Not that I looked any more fresh-faced after two diet lemonades and a half of mild.
I picked him up at St Neots, a town I used to visit every Thursday to pick up an elderly family friend for her weekly Old Folks Club (not a CAMRA branch meeting). With his dodgy knee he doesn’t like to talk about, Si was walking a similar pace to dear old Ruth.
That’s the itinerary; bar the emergency loo stops on the hard shoulder of the A428. First stop, Comberton.
Five minutes from the city centre, and one of the less “Prosecco and Pashmina” of the South Cambs village. We used to bring our boys to play in the Three Horseshoes pub garden during its last stint in the Guide.
As you can see, it was bustling on Saturday lunchtime.
The highlights, pub apart, are the pond and the pies, both of which we resisted.
How good it is to see a village pub free of cars.
Actually, the lack of lunchtime trade was a little disconcerting, though the bulk of custom is wet, we were a bit surprised to hear. It’s been bustling at night as a youngish population come back from late night shopping or the Abbey Stadium.
Just one other customer for Si to compare bad knees with today.
My lemonade gave me a headache, I sank the dregs of a pint of local brew that Si has raved about (Dreg scoring A-) and I contemplated how long these pumps would last in the dying days of cask. Longer than you might think.
I have many photos of this pleasingly unmodernised pub, but the memory is of a quite brilliantly friendly Landlady who convinced Si he needed his own PA, and the scary photo of Poppy we took for Mudgie.
I also got the sort of history of the famed play area that you normally receive from the volunteers at the entrance to St Simon’s Church.
I always make polite conversation with the Landlord if it’s not too busy, but the emergence of the good book, the horrible green marker pen, and THAT T-shirt tend to draw out even the most reserved of staff when BRAPA is around.
I think we may have been offered a tour at one stage. What we really wanted was the gossip from the Ladies Conservative Club meeting to share with Maidenhead later.
Anyway, 473 words and still in the first pub. Must shoot, back at a National Pub of the Year Finalist later.