Yes, as exclusively predicted by Pubmeister in the last post, IT’S THORNGUMBALD !
I know these posts from places you’ve never been to or will ever go to are a harder sell than Manchester or Maidenhead, and to be frank (not Sidebottom) this looked the dullest place on Humberside.
To be fair, nearby Fort Paull remains unvisited, but no doubt they’ll be a micro to tempt me there soon.
So here’s a more interesting house I noticed just as the bus left Patrington. You get 10 points for identifying the famous American painter this reminded me of.
By contrast, Thorngumbald is like an appendage to Hedon, less interesting than it sounds. At least Hedon gave me a good pun, though reading that post now I remember how “challenging” the beer was. And they all stared at me.
They didn’t stare at the New Royal Mail, but then they probably hadn’t seen me walking past it twice wondering why the GBG app was directing me into Changes Hair Salon. There is one hairdresser for every eighteen people in East Yorkshire.
Seems the pub has taken over the sorting office and left the frontage to a café and hairdressers or something. Excellent idea, if not quite Gallaghers in Birkenhead.
Quite a compact little space that would feel crowded if Thorgumbald Terriers FC and Hedon Hotspur FC both turned up at the same time, but with half a dozen wandering in and out it was perfect.
Great use of wall seating.
And a soundtrack of “Bette Davis Eyes” and KC’s“Give It Up” is more than you can dream of on a Wednesday night in the suburbs of Hull.
Sadly, my picture of the scene at the bar is contaminated by a schoolboy in the background playing Fortnite on his phone. While I love to see children in pubs, rules are rules (and those stickers some folk put over people’s faces are just daft).
As Si noted, as far from the Herne Rules as you can go.
Two blokes on Carling, a schoolboy on J20, a barmaid confused by a vibrating phone. Just a typical village pub then, certainly not a “CAMRA” pub. Hoorah for that.
BRAPA was here before Christmas, and thought it was a reet proper boozer, as they say in Saffron Walden.
So did I, though I didn’t think as much of the Sleck Dust (“but it’s from an independent brewery, not Big Beer !”). Certainly not off, just lacking the condition you get when you open at 11am instead of 4pm and sell a hundred pints an hour.
So I sneaked out into the rather attractive garden (not as good as my Dad’s, as Dick and Dave will know).
And, well, you know what comes next.
NB If BRAPA had seen me burn my finger extracting a beermat from below the burning candle he’d have put it in his blog.
As I say, sometimes a pub is better than the beer. And vice versa. Deal with it.