With BRAPA having safely left the Lakes, having drained it of barley wine, I thought it was safe to stop for a half (or whatever I didn’t tip in the plants) in Cumbria.
It took over 3 hours to trundle up past Penrith, as some dreadful family from Sevenoaks (probably) chose to break down on the A66 just outside Centerparks.
So Wreay was as much a comfort stop as a tick, and I’m always curious to see what lays ahead of our Si.
Well, a quiet village with a parish church decorated with alligators, commemorating the great Carlisle alligator invasion of 1561.
No sign of alligators, but astonishing birdsong I captured for you here.
I know Si loves these cultural tips. Quite what he’ll make of the Plough is a deep mystery.
Tiny village, tiny gentlefolk dining pub.
I know that 88% of Trip Advisor reviews start like this, but the food looked and smelt amazing.
The Landlord/waitress/barman said “Won’t be a minute” as he brought a succession of pies to Floras and Ednas and Alberts while I stood at the bar, fistful of silver in hand.
The gentlefolk stopped him to enquire about the “Cheesecake of the Day” (I guess strawberry), but I’m a patient man.
Only two beers, too much choice confuses gentlefolk.
“Your food looks good, shame I had a tuna wrap from Greggs” I offered.
“Aye, our food is 1.5 tines better than the rest. Just like Eric Bristow”
A random analogy, but that’s life.
His beer, the Hawkshead of course, was good too.
And the music choice would have impressed Old Mudgie.
The beer peaked when I took it out to see the Lakeland Sun.
Only about 324 Cumbria GBG entries left. Just stay off the barley wine.