WARNING: Mrs RM “fixed” my PC or summat, so I expect this post will come out all wrong.
I start my extended series of birthday posts with what can only be described as “a telling off“.
Harry has me bang to rights; a bit weird and #NoMatesMartin. I knew that braving Wilmslow on my birthday was a mistake.
Before the Wilmslow Wonders (joking), here’s a Cumbrian half-dozen, starting straight after a mammoth Birthday Eve hike up on Friday morning (one stop, East Markham, since you ask).
Parked up, I decided against trying to check in at 1pm at the Sun, and admired the old-school glories of Ulverston, Ironmongers and bamboo scarves and all.
Although it was running, my train to Barrow and beyond was, of course, delayed by “delays” so I had time for a quick half in the Old Friends first.
Here’s a real Robbies pub I noted for later.
And you can see where the Old Friends came from.
In the light drizzle Ulverston‘s colours glistened, rather as Bridport had at Easter.
And inside it felt a bit like Christmas. Or perhaps I’m easily impressed by Father Christmas hats on hand pumps.
I went for the one that said “IPA”. Work it out for yourself. It seemed to be staggeringly cheap, £2.30 a pint. Is that possible ? Perhaps that was the time.
The Landlord chatted about the imminent invasion by Barrow on Black Eye Friday (“more pubs here than Barrow”) and the hit to trade from the Northern Rail strike in honeypots like Sellafield and Foxfield.
Which was, coincidentally, where I was off next. After some train drama of my own.