Who’d have guessed it ? Almost overnight the string of North Wales coastal towns beloved of holidaying Scousers has become Small Pub central.
Well, anyone who’s been to Middlesbrough or Thanet will understand the phenomenon.
Of course there’s an emerging schism between the “Herne model” micro appealing to blokes aged 57.86 who drink local cask, and the gin/cocktail/keg bar that appeals to their children. Come in, the Hoptimist.
On the ten minute retiredmartin taxi to Abergele Duncan became more obsessed with the pronunciation of Dovecot (“ducket”) and I resolved to keep him off the flights, but failed.
The little bar was packed, the beer board “challenging”, the queue for the loo the stuff of middle-aged nightmares.
Fans of little jam jars should book their caravan holiday in Prestatyn now.
“Oooh, 10p a pint to the RSPB” said Duncan.
“You should have the beer from Cwrw, they’re a reliable brewery” I said, not helping.
EVERYONE apart from Duncan was drinking brightly coloured liquid from a fishbowl. But, hey, I was young once; I drank Snakebite in the Ancient Druids at lunchtime.
Lots of laughs, lots of high heels, some decent beer based on my dreg, But NO PORK SCRATCHINGS. That’s a step too far.