The Beer Guide seems determined to promote lovely Wrexham’s pub tourist credentials.
Another GBG packed with new entries in the posh Cheshire-lite villages to the north and the grittier hills towards Mold.
I had the joy of a walk from the bus stop at Rossett through tiny lanes with giant hedges. A quiet, straggling, bucolic slice of the Borders but you’re definitely on the Welsh side.
And all to myself bar the odd learner horse rider and a few suicidal peacocks.
To the north there’s old deer parks and golf lessons and a scary Brunning & Pricey, so I stay the Welsh side of the border and climb over bridges to nowhere.
There’s an odd looking farm yard with all the red phone boxes they don’t need for mini libraries.
Just as I notice those, a Pit Bull Terrier, probably from Rhyl, runs towards the gate until the leash stops him a foot short of my delicate neck.
On safer ground, the Griffin is about to open.
A man is hiding up a ladder away from the Pit Bull, and he assures me it’ll be open at midday.
I love pubs with little porches like this one.
I bet the car park at the Grosvenor Arms up in Aldford was filling up by now, but I walked in to peace.
The Griffin seem surprised to see me, and the owner is training a new member of staff.
I make sure her first task is to pull a half of the Marstons house beer.
There’s a lovely feel to the place. A pub cat called Rocky and a shy lizard the highlights.
Nothing much beats a pub lunch in a quiet rural village, so I had the pulled pork Panini (invented in Wrexham) and a half for a fiver.
Lunchtime trade is dying, of course, and I bet Si gets a completely different feel at 4pm on a Saturday in December.
I just hope Rocky, the friendliest pub cat of the year, is still there to meet him.