I’m typing this on the train to Box Hill Station, a pleasant walk from my penultimate Surrey tick in Mickleham.
Bet you thought I did all my blogging from a soundproofed room in Waterbeach, interrupted only by the butler bringing my cans of Four Pure on a silver platter. That’s BRAPA you’re getting mixed up with.
The new Dorking entry, the first for a while, is a rare drinkers pub, still maintaining a bit of Friary Meux signage rather than the usual Greene King or Brunning & Price.
It’s so close to the stations I walked past it twice. GBG station pubs without the words “Tap” or “Great” in them were actually banned in 2015.
You get three railway stations in Dorking, compared to none in Leek, which is in a nutshell why the North hates the South.
Mind, the drinkers in the Lincoln were all useful Southerners, tradesmen by the look of it, taking a break from “modernising” Fullers pubs, no doubt.
I presumed the pool posse arrived at 5pm.
I guess two local beers gets you in the Guide these days. I nearly had the Doom Bar to spite the CAMRAs, but panicked and stayed on the Pilgrim, my third in a row, and possibly the best, chunky glass and all.
Naff music, great service and a lively atmosphere with some of the best swearing this year. I’d like to say it was on both sides of the bar but obviously I can’t.
My notes also say “goldfish”. Possibly a pub pet, possibly a nickname, possibly a lunchtime snack.
I still don’t understand the Brexit sign though (DON’T explain it).