8th January 2020
Well folks, I’m writing this in the Sandringham Hotel in Weston-Super-Mare, and I’ve just been to the worst Wetherspoons in the country, which is more exciting than the biggest. Old Mudgie will know which one I mean.
Next up on my Thanet Thrust was Broadstairs, the national capital of Dickens tat. It’s lost its “airs” according to the OS.
Controversially, I’d place Broadstairs behind Magic Margate and Resplendent Ramsgate on my Thanet League Table, and you’d probably disagree with me.
Perhaps I just needed a sunny day like last Wednesday to appreciate it.
And a bag of lemon sherberts from Sweet Yesterdays. But remember folks, lemon sherberts can damage your NBSS scores and caution is advised.
Broadstairs had a good buzz on a cold January afternoon, the gentlefolk drawn by Dickens,
micros and dog walking.
I had an energetic stroll over the rocks along Stone Bay, an early highlight of the new decade with its ancient graffiti.
I thought I’d found an undisclosed micro along East Cliff.
But sadly winter opening hours apply.
A nice steep climb back from the rocks into town. A lovely, rambling town of fraded reds and blues; full of antiques, Italian bistros and craft beer, just as it was when Dickens wrote Moby Dick here. Probably.
Dickens would have loved micropubs with all their funny characters.
GBG newbie Mind The Gap is two minutes from the station and I sense a theme here.
What can I tell you ? It keeps reliable opening hours, sells good beers you’ve heard of at £3 a pint, including an excellent Gadds 5 (NBSS 3.5).
The Landlady was a chatty gem, some regulars came in and said “Oooh, Hophead” and “Only a half, I’ve just had my breakfast” and “Hophead, not what it was, is it?”.
And there’s a sign that says “Trunks Only”. Just not that sort of trunks.
It’s just a bit “Our Mutual Friend”, rather than “Great Expectations”, if you know what I mean. Which you don’t.