So what was I doing in Hook, you ask ? Apart from rediscovering the thrill of the tip.
I was on my way back to Southampton (again !) for more sultry South Coast small pub fun, of course.
But first, a diversion to Romsey for the annual new GBG pub that you can’t believe you haven’t visited before.
Oddly, I can only find that lone post from the never-to-be-forgortten month of May 2017. You’ll remember this chap.
Back then I called Romsey “a “Hitchin of the South” before Hitchin found craft” and I think that still holds.
The average age has crept up to 59.3 years, and if the WASPI women get their payout then some Romsey Women will have the cash to spend in the town’s first craft bar, whenever that is.
I followed the tiny stream west of town to the Three Tuns, a weatherboarded gem that looks a bit like a McMullens pub in Hitchin, but without cask breathers.
I walked past the Three Tuns, confused by a sign with an owl on it, despite the App screaming “YOU HAVE ARRIVED !”.
I enter to half-timbered loveliness, obscured by Christmas ights.
It’s just turned 3pm, so the trade is pretty much wind-down, wear a jumper Friday.
Now Simon and I have attracted some comments when we’ve whines about bar blockers before, and pubs need to adapt to their customers’ quirks, even if that does mean sitting at the bar. Or eating in front of the pumps (top).
But it’s not for me, not when there’s a fire this good.
Shame the Flack Manor was so average (2.5). Too many beers, I guess. Not that I could see them all.