Yes, a rash of grumpy posts till I catch up. Quite how I’ll do that on the Sleeper from Euston to Aberdeen tomorrow (mostly Scottish lagers on board), I’ve no idea.
Next up is a delightful looking country pub in the heart of classic car land somewhere north of Lewes. Loads of dining places here over the years.
Yes, blue skies bring out the pubgoers, clogging up the garden with their pashminas and complaining about outdoor smokers.
There’s a great pub sign, unfortunately affixed to the wall inside the pub.
There are 27 glasses on the bar, and they’re still there when I leave. It appears 25 of them held Pravha, the newish Staropramen lager. I guess you can confuse it for Peroni.
I’ve said it before, cask is practically dead in the home counties due to the appeal of posh lager.
My half of Gun Milk Stout (I know, I should have had the Old) is the only cask I see poured while I’m there. But the handpumps look nice, don’t they ?
And the Stout looks decent on the bar.
As is the way now, posh southern gastropubs give drinkers the opportunity to drink their wholly adequate Harvey’s from posing tables near the bar,
or search for the comfort of an entirely inappropriate sofa.
Attracted by neither of these, I joined the folk enjoying our “Summer in Wintertime” on the garden benches, where trainee barristers with loud voices cooed about their “cooking lagers“. I presume they don’t mean our Stockport hero.
The Gun was OK, but I couldn’t drink it, far too sweet. Luckily there were plenty of appreciative flowers.
Eight pubs over 3 days in Sussex, and I didn’t finish the beer in half of them.
NB Why is it that the most upmarket pubs persist in this antique soft porn in the Gents (looking at you, Brunning & Price). And what do women get in the Ladies ?