Lancashire pub life, eh ? Ain’t it grand.
Irish Sea Dave is the expert on the basic pubs of Morecambe Bay, and has almost certainly beat me to the Crossing at the, er, crossing at Hest Bank, one of three (3) pubs in a row on my Morecambe meander.
A pleasant stroll along the coast from Morecambe’s Bare Lane, which will feature again later, reminds me I made Mrs RM and family walk the entire way from the Eric Morecambe statue beyond Hest Bank to a pub at Bolton-le-Sands, back in the days (2017) when they took any notice of me.
Hest Bank is lumped in with Slyne on Wiki; you can still feel the simmering resentment as you enter the village.
There is a canal but I’m fairly sure Peter Allen hasn’t got quite this far north.
From the bridge over the actual crossing you can probably see all sorts of celebrities’ houses on Barrow.
I’m getting used to micropubs that dare not call themselves micropubs. No qualms here.
Outside the pub I see something I haven’t seen for a decade.
Yes, Copper Dragon are back. Rather made up my mind for me at the bar, too.
But first I dumped my coat at the seat nearest the fire. It was worth the walk from Bare, or possibly even Barnstaple for the smell from that fire.
This being a Proper micropub, one of the locals had to nip behind the bar to pour my decent half of Moon Drifter as the gaffer was out milking oysters or whatever, and a splendid job he did.
A charmingly homey place with half a dozen regulars entertaining a chatty greyhound, but not the one that Duncan has just reported as being banned.
A chap wandered in with a kebab, which seemed a bit cruel on those of us suddenly famished, let along our canine friend.
In fact most of the banter surrounded trencherman’s feasts at local restaurants.
“I don’t think I’ve had three courses in thirty years, but I had the sticky toffee pudding”
You’ll have to imagine how much joy the smell of that smoke gave me, and how wonderful the pronunciation of “sticky toffee pudding“.