With the trad group of Preston crawlers still stuck in the Wellington, Matthew, Luke and I were first in the Blue Bell (stop E).
Being cultured, I would have preferred to spend the time in Preston’s wonderful Art Gallery with its relics from Deepdale plastic pitch, but was outvoted.
Surprisingly, I’d never been to the Blue Bell before. Surprising, till I remembered the sorry record of Sam Smiths pubs in the Guide (Stockport excepted).
How gorgeous is this ?
Now, I reckon we’ll miss Humphrey Smith more than Tim Martin, should either of them ever retire.
Gorgeous pubs, cheap beer, some of it stunningly good.
Shame about the irritating phone ban, which as you’ll see meant I couldn’t take any photos inside except with my trusty Canon XLS.
Even worse we lost track of England’s capitulation but rules are rules.
Actually the last time I felt this nervous about a dangerous activity was when I (inadvertently) wandered into the Zimbabwe Presidential Palace while looking for the national cricket ground.
Sam Smiths pubs most easily convey that sense of peace and contentment that justify getting out of your sofa to visit pubs, and I reckoned the half hour nursing a half of keg Stout was likely to be the highlight of the day. I was wrong.
Eventually the Mudgies, Pete and the Hatter showed up, just as we were heading off to the Guild. Perhaps the confusion allowed some surreptitious photos to be taken. Who knows.
Anyway, more photos at Sam’s than at Guild Ale House,which I now have to agree has decent seating and a pubby atmosphere, despite my taking against any place with “Ale House” in the name.
Shame about the non-alcoholic Paulaner. It’s no Fun.