None of the photos from my next two Cumbrian pubs are that exciting, way the cookie crumbles, so here’s a window from St Peter’s church in Castle Carrock. At least Mark gets an overlooked OMD single in the title.
Look closely at the right-hand panel in St Peters and you’ll see “BRAPA casteth out of the Newawrk Northgate Station“.
Two ticks walkable from Brampton station, though oddly none in Brampton itself. Its time will come.
Castle Carrock was gearing up for the annual Music on the Marr festival by banning kites
and erecting lots of tents, starting in the pub garden.
Tents and tarpaulins tend to take the gloss of a traditional pub like the Duke of Cumberland,
but there were bigger crimes against traditionalism inside.
That said, it was busy, and cheery, and professionally run. And clearly gearing up for a busy festival week, probably marred (ha !) by guest beers.
One customer had returned the Specials board and plonked it right in front of the handpumps, a cardinal sin the Landlady immediately remedied.
Everyone seemed very pleasant, so the drama quotient was low, which was still more than at the GBBF. A gentleman left his wallet on the bar and the Landlady took it over to his table, where his wife chided his carelessness.
And that was that. Even the dog didn’t lick me.
Chilled Golden Plover, as you beer experts can probably tell from the frostings on the glass,
but it was still tasty and refreshing (NBSS 3), and you can warm a glass up but not down.
A mile up the road in Talkin, the Blacksmiths Arms hadn’t got the tents but had got the trade.
I entered to the smell of OAP lunch, which I always find reassuring as I enter my own twilight years.
This had the feel of one of those casual diners between Macclesfield and Buxton propped up by the septuagenarian pound.
In the side room grandparents were entertaining their grandchildren my letting them use their mobile phones, and it was all very cheery and heartwarming.
Even the beers looked good.
But I was the only person not eating, and the only person drinking. And it showed a bit.
Look at the “lacings”.
Lunchtime drinking is dead, you know. And there’s nothing we can do about it.