“Frankie Says…” go to a pub.
Actually, after the Half Moon I was ready for an early night of Chinese takeaway and LBC, with BRAPA to come in the morning.
But then our group split up, and Pete & The Mudgies (a punk group from Atherstone, surely ?), nipped in the Bull.
For a few minutes, I wandered aimlessly, taking in Rugby’s fading grandeur.
Then I joined them in the Stonegate pub.
Paul had been here already, praising its opening hours (10am to midnight) and its beer. It was the perfect unremarkable market town pub to end the day.
This would have been a remarkable range of ciders a decade ago.
19:15 on a Friday night means halves of Landlord and the dying embers of England squeaking past Ireland.
The foamy lacings are an indication of a decent half of our hardest beer to serve at its best. And less than £3 a pint.
Pete, or Carling Pete to his friends, had his very first Punk IPA and is probably an Equity Punk by now, like the rest of us. Read about Pete’s no doubt life-changing experience here.
I make that nine pubs, and not a duffer among them, even if we never saw a Bass or Pedi all day. You could feel quite bullish about pubs, you know.
If you’d asked me beforehand we’d have had Rugby mid-table in the Championship of pub towns, now it’s in the play-offs.
And again, really cheery service throughout. Worth noting, that.
Shame about the traditional Chinese takeaway, an incinerated crispy beef to end the day. Don’t believe Google reviews, folks.