It’s important on these “Professional Ticking Days” to stick firmly to the itinerary.
Stick to halves, arrive at pubs at the designated 13:03 and leave at 13:27, stick to halves, don’t get sidetracked by possible pre-emptives, stick to halves, don’t dawdle to admire the endless winding streets of Norwich, almost inevitably ending at the St John Maddermarket gravestone of someone who asked for a taster at the Adam & Eve.
And under NO circumstances read the Pubmeister‘s definitive guides to Norwich drinking while walking, and think to yourself;
“The Belgian Monk ? Only Belgian beer ? No chance of ever making the GBG ? Sounds a good idea.”
Norwich has a continental feel, it could almost be in Europe.
The Belgian Monk is beautifully done, albeit a bit heavier on the restaurant than the bar.
And it was packed on Thursday lunchtime, so I had to abandon all my principles and take a seat at the bar.
“Don’t Stop Believin‘ ” was playing (not the Glee version), gentlefolk were fighting over who paid the bill, you could have been in Ghent Yarmouth.
The great Duncan had decreed that the Ter Dolen Blond was rich and punchy, and he was right, of course.
But it had still been A BAD IDEA with two ticks still to do, and my immediate priority was a strong coffee and some psychedelic blues.
So, thanks to Strangers Coffee house next door for the powerful long black and Wooden Shijps, which is the correct spelling before you correct me.