One more tick to knock West Sussex on the head for another GBG year.
The Barley Mow at Walderton another one down tiny roads; John was clutching the Good Book he’d actually bought in the Royal Oak for comfort as I arrived in Breakneck Lane at about 5mph.
A pub obscured by cars, but I got the wonderful sign for you (top).
“Those cars look posh” said John, by which he meant smarter than my Aygo (189,000 miles on the clock).
You can tell it’s posh by the skittle alley.
It’s the sort of pub that Her Majesty would visit, shake hands with the Landlady and take a bottle of Harvey’s Armada (or can of John Smith’s Smooth) back for Philip.
Despite the lunchtime trade, definitely that rare beast; an upmarket pub with drinkers in it. In 2019.
The Harvey’s Old had just been tapped, and two gentlefolk were expectantly considering their pints. I can confirm it was cool, foamy and marvellous (NBSS 3.5).
I know I say this a lot, but the welcome really was lovely.
“How are you, my lovely ?”
“There you go, my Darling”
You don’t get that in Maidenhead’s Honey Pot*, I can tell you.
John looked thrilled to secure a table away from the pork chops and regional specialty,
Wrexham cheddar tart with caramelized onions and cherry tomatoes with side salad and chunky chips £12.95 (V)
He spared me a sighting of his “interesting” leg on this dining occasion, but I did get a photo of the Young CAMRA members from his local branch.
I think we probably talked about Romany micropubs in Redcar and whist drives in Hitchin, so I wasn’t paying much attention to the dramas undoubtedly playing out around us. There’ll still be there when Si arrives in 2033. Possibly.
Et voila, as they say in Crawley.
I left John back at Chichester Station, to play further raids on flavoured cider, but no doubt we’ll be meeting up in Hitchin soon enough.
*Oh, sorry, haven’t actually been there