Well I definitely hadn’t been to Whitehaven before.
Words cannot describe how excited I was as I left the train, leaving ill-dressed teenagers clutching bottles of wine in my wake.
They were expecting me;
Safely back at home I’ve zoomed in on the OS map and saw that,
a) I could have got less wet by getting off at Corkickle, which sounds a riot,
b) No-one told me there was a Quality Corner.
I forgot to tell you that my umbrella had broke in Workington too. Not the posh £16 one, a duffer I bought from Boots. I jumped on it and threw the wreckage it in the station bin.
Ah, a Spoons. Always go in a Spoons that isn’t in the Guide.
Just like a YMCA, they’re warm, dry and you can wear a Santa hat in Carlisle away colours.
In the interests of science I avoided the interesting homebrew at the bar and had another Ennerdale Blonde to compare with the one I’d had half an hour ago up the road.
I reckon they sell 17 cocktails with straws for every pint of real ale here, and why not ?
No seats, so goodness knows I was glad I hadn’t arrived on Black Eye Friday; I’d have never have made the loos.
The actual GBG entry was an attractive 5 minute stroll along Georgian streets, if a complete soaking can ever be called attractive.
The Vagabond has a superb scuffed sign (top), and I’d award points for identifying which album they’d nick it from but Dave knows already.
Less attractive open hours;
Actually, look at the WhatPub entry and YOU work out the Sunday hours. As they advise, get your butler to call ahead (it’s a Tory seat as well).
Aside from the hours, this is all you need to know.
Yes, ALL tables filled with diners or little chalkboards heralding the announcement of munchers. I HATE standing. You can’t take surreptitious photos.
A shame, because the Keswick was a lovely beer (3.5) from a range that seemed determined to span the UK.
So at least the GBG is right.
Out into the rain in search of chips, or possibly crispy squid.
Loads of once-a-year pubbers out and about, taking up tables that drinkers will have to themselves in January.
Then I see something called “Gin and Beer It Bar & Kitchen“. Preemptive alert.
Wiki says “The term “jam eater” is often used by the people of neighbouring Workington to refer to the people of Whitehaven”.
In the G&BIB&K they were eating sourdough pizza with fig jam. Up yours, Worky!
A group of ladies had beat me my milliseconds to the bar, and were chatting about charity events rather than ordering
I gave up and walked out.
Then disaster struck, as I marched straight into the middle of the pointless pole in the middle of the pavement.
I’m made of tough stuff, of course, but it’s a good thing I’ve sired two sons* already is all I’m saying.
An Old Boy came along, said “Y’allright mate” and sympathised with the placement of the
bollocks bollards. I thanks him for his courtesy.
I also thank the lass in Fraser’s chippy who gave me this enormous piece of haddock.
Sadly, that meant I had no need to test the Chinese takeaway scene for you, but I expect you’ll get over that.