Back to those pubs you seem to want me to write about, even if I just bung the half of pond water into the plants.
I bet you’re already looking above for suitable pots, aren’t you?
Sadly for you, the White Horse at Hinton St Mary (pop. 307, average age 73) was top-notch.
I arrived just as the bells of St Peter’s struck 12.
Actually it was 12.01, but that’s what you get with global warming.
I noticed a couple sitting patiently outside on a bench.
“Not open yet? “
A forlorn, worried look. They’d arrived by taxi, and were bemused by the lack of life at their regular lunch meet.
We exchange shrugs.
Rather than panic, I explored Hinton.
Two minutes well spent. At 12.03, the door creaked open, and our regular diners got up.
I’d have beaten them to the front door by at least 5 minutes, but then I’d have missed this shot.
Inside, they turned left for the restaurant, I turned right for the barely less restauranty bar.
Looks pubbier inside, though of course there’s no-one joining me in the bar of a rural pub till Fred pops in at 10pm for his 2 pints.
My new friends next door are still deciding what they want, possibly off-put by the naff country/pop, so I got my Palmers Dorset Gold (cool, rich, NBSS 3+) from a pleasantly old school landlady.
With old school charity boxes.
Not sure about status of the biscuit tin.
Plenty to explore in my lonely 10 minute stay. Some the usual tat, some less anticipated.
A pleasant place, eagerly awaiting the BRAPA visit, when the village stocks might get their first use since a CAMRA member asked for a taster.