I draw you in with the Sam Smiths glass and lacings, only to let you down, perhaps.
Next up, Marton-in-the-Forest and Martin-in-the-Pub.
Well, Stillington, strictly.
Your typical north-of-York village, with everyone either away doing a pointless office job or stocking their larder for the coming apocalypse (postponed).
Excellent Village store serving chunky sandwiches and posh crisps, mind.
And suitably chunky church where I paused to look at WhatPub and briefly panic.
Open 12 till 2, it said. What if they stopped serving at 1.40? You know what these Yorkies are like.
It was packed 20 minutes before closing, full of genteel diners and robust drinkers.
But I still panicked a bit as the bar sat unattended and the clock reached 1.45.
But no-one was drinking up. Not at these prices.
A stunning contrast with the gastro down the road. Here the public was full of retired blokes glued to Cheltenham.
“I’ve got Thistlecrack “
“Sorry to hear that John”
A rare drop of malty Rudgate as house beer, £2.34 for us CAMRA. Which I never admit to being.
Good rather than stunning, like OBB I guess.
But lacings to move to York for.
Just a hardworking busy pub full of bants and boozing.
Not that hard, is it?