On my 33rd birthday, I spent the evening in Little Haven‘s Swan Inn, the waves lashing against the sea walls while Mrs RM and I ate chicken in a basket and drank pints of Worthington Best. Well, I did, while Mrs RM looked on jealously.
There it is at the top, looking very lovely and pale but sadly devoid of its GBG sticker these days, no doubt a punishment for dropping the Whoosh.
I arrived in Little Haven on a dry but grisly day that had scared off the Guardian set, ensuring a 4×4 free walk down the hill.
A short walk before opening, and I had the coast path all to myself.
This is the sort of childhood holiday I enjoyed; caves, coves and cheese and biscuits on the beach.
Just as CAMRA single-handedly saved real ale in the ’70s by publishing an annual guide on places to drink it, the National Trust has saved our magnificent coastline by opening tea shops in every conceivable crevice around the UK.
Saint Brides Inn lacks the dramatic setting of the Swan, but compensates with a collection of water jugs to impress visiting American pubbers,
the knitted RNLI mascot,
and four handpumps for that all-important choice that the GBG and visitors demand. Two you’ll probably know, two have silly names as they’re Locales.
For a dining pub, it’s quite pleasant, and I really should have stayed for food.
Sadly I have to order before the other customer (who has a lager anyway) so I’m the first to drink the Hancocks HB, probably for several days.
Yes, it’s rubbish (NBSS 1.5), but at least the toilets are nice.
I’m really sorry about all this negativity, but there’s no point lying, there’s just not enough custom round here to clear a barrel of beer in three days, even in May.
Anyway, you’ve not really come here for the beer, have you ?