3rd January 2020
Last stop before the train returns to civilisation is Cottingham, providing a first new GBG entry in what seems like a century but is probably two years.
Cottingham, not to be confused with the village next to me where I lerned to rite, can best be summed up in two words.
I’ll spare you a pic of the MP for Haltemprice, which isn’t a real place. Instead here’s a phone box.
Wiki says Cottingham (pop. 17k) is of “average affluence“, by which they mean relative to the UK rather than east Hull, I guess.
I remember some smartish but dull GBG pubs. Actually, I don’t remember them at all, but the Hallgate Tavern may live longer in the memory.
From the outside, traditional town pub.
Two steps in, vast echoing sports bar with two unused handpumps.
Two unused handpumps?
They’re taking my mantra about Quantity v Quality too far.
But keep walking.
Past the second pool table and wall mounted TVs.
Past the children drinking pop (not a euphemism) on high stools.
And you come to a lounge with slogans written on 17th century beams.
And the main bar.
It’s worth the 20 minute walk from the front door.
Yes, a basic Marston pub in an affluent Yorkshire village. Love you lots, GBG.
The sign at the door said £2.50 a pint but that must be Thursday at 10am.
Still, this was a bargain Banks’s.
And a cool, foamy 3.5, with a choice of Uzbekistan tennis or Latvian cricket on 22 screens to enjoy while overhearing unrepeatable conversations about “Insufficient funds”.
I’d guess 30 in on a Friday afternoon, which is decent.
Today’s 5 points goes to whoever can make sense of the loo art. (Gents, for a change).
Sadly Cottingham lacks much of beauty, which is something you can never say about Hull.