In case you’re wondering how I get away with so much time away from home, I was wondering the same thing myself.
Mind, Mrs RM was simultaneously enjoying nights away in Greenwich, Brighton and Brentford, though admittedly there may be some work involved as well there.
“Pub ticking IS work” says Mark Crilley, possibly.
Well, it certainly is life. No other pursuit would have taken me to Langstrothdale with a one man tent on a Sunday night.
Admit it, you’ve never heard of Langstrothdale, tucked away from the usual honeypots of the Yorkshire Dales at the top of Wharfedale.
The drovers track down from Hawes was one of the most beautiful journeys I’ve done in the UK, even better than the A141 from Chatteris to March, and obviously all I passed on the way were suspicious sheep.
Black Sheep in Hubberholme’s George, an increasingly good sign. As is the humour.
But what sort of pub do you get away from the posh hotels on the A684, when the day trippers are back in Leeds.
An irreverent, timeless gem, I thought.
“Just a half ! Hardly worth me getting up for” said with a wink.
The Bitter was superb, NBSS 3.5 easy, but the banter with visitors and a few Old Boys alike made it special. Shame I can’t remember any of it, but there you go.
Outside loos too, though I had to seek guidance from the lady smoking outside which one to use. What’s wrong with “Blokes” and “Sheilas”.
On to my bed for the night and my last two ticks for North Yorkshire.