More Naaaarfolk for you, from an unexpected source.
Two months ago I’d forgotten that King’s Lynn existed. Then Duncan promoted Lynn as a major tourist destination, something I was able to confirm soon after, and only last week I watched their Under 18s dismantle Mildenhall Town.
And now I’m back, from
outer space Norwich, making another trip for TWO unexpected ticks that are both Ordinary Pubs rather than micros.
Duncan and I have both been to Terrington St Clements pub-hunting before the birth of the internet, and we secretly hoped that the Wildfowler was actually the County Arms renamed. But no such luck.
So I reacquaint myself with the village bus stop, home to replica shirted fans of Kings Lynn and Norwich on their way to their respective staggered kick-offs. Duncan, of course, saw the “Clements” defeat West Winch Wanderers here in 1997 and has no truck with the big leagues.
A chance to admire the “Cathedral of the (reclaimed) Marshland“, to go with all the other Cathedrals of impossibly dull bits of Fenland.
Terrington is nearly as big as Waterbeach, but has better fonts.
To its credit, it also retains a Chinese takeaway and this unusual art installation;
Bing Maps is convinced that my pub is called the Wild Fowler, after an incident at Carrow Road in 2005 when Robbie’s particularly reckless tackle ended the career of the Norwich City mascot.
That’s the most interesting feature of a “solid” village dining pub where the drama comes at the bar as Dad tries to remember the lunch orders. “It’s a good job he’s got six fingers“, says BRAPA, cruelly.
“Leslie whad you want ?”
“SPARKLIN WATER WITH LEMON”
“AND TWO DIET COKES”
My ale choice isn’t quite as exciting as threatened by What Pub.
They have IPA, fear not, and all that “Perfect IPA” Point of Sale material that hints at a reformulation of your favourite.
It’s OK (2.5), though a bit disappointing after some 3.5 pints so far in GBG20.
Still, I get “Americanos” by Holly Johnson, and I get Gentlefolk reading out the menu.
“The lasagne comes with chips, Ed”
“What about the fish and chips, Ed ? That comes with chips”
Still, there’s nowhere you’d rather be, and the subsequent pinking is a joy.
A mile north of the Lynn ground is South Wootton’s Swan, which offers even less drama. At least until BRAPA turns up for his 6th pint.
The Public is full of Liverpool scarves, as pretend Scousers watch their side take an unassailable 5 point lead at the top of the Premiership. Watching Liverpool on the tele box is, of course, one of the few legal domestic activities in Norfolk.
The Lounge has some pleasing panelling and seats, and is only empty as all the families are eating chips in the garden.
“Anyone here called Pete ?” asks the taxi driver.
A dozen hands go up.
“Why can’t you walk to the ground ?” I think.
Uniformed barmaids seem relieved the football is over, and are planning their escape to the lawn with picnic blanket and lunch box during their break. Ah, sweet.
Sadly, the Adnams is flat and dull (NBSS 2), and £4 a pint.
I knew my run of good beer in the new Good Beer Guide wouldn’t survive the Norfolk onslaught.