3rd February 2020
Surrey to a finish (nearly) , before it gets all blown away tomorrow by Storm Ciara.
Two nicely contrasting Guildford GBG entries left, and they sum up a county bravely resisting the surge of micros and craft to the east.
I never quite get the county town (dont @ me, Kingston), and they’re still digging up the High Street, but I promise to visit the Cathedral next visit.
Drummonds is half a mile north, next to one of the 387 National Trust properties round here. The Wey Navigations are worth the walk and house what is likely to be a floating micro when I come back in 2021.
Not, as I suspected, named after the founder of the KLF, The Drummond is a subtly-themed pub that harks back to a simpler time. Like 1996.
At 12:00 there were no signs of life, adding that frisson of danger of a closed pub. But the advantage of a gastropub in leafy suburbia is that you can be confident they’ll open at lunchtime, and probably stay open all day for the pashmina crowd.
I entered to the sounds of the Husker Du classic and immediately had my blog title. If only inspiration always came that easily, I’d save a fortune on “Pubs by Post”.
The opened-out interior won’t have the Pub Mudgies heading south for a visit.
But the beer range was unpretentious and that TEA you order in the hope of a misunderstanding was another decent NBSS 3.
Nice young staff (“How’s your day been”, “Great, thanks”). and polite young customers too, marching in for their lunchtime deal.
One of the group took the lead in organising the lunch orders. Ten minutes it took them to decide on the Bulldog Drummond special and compare notes on their landlords (not the beer, late millenials never drink at lunchtime).
Three times the leader trotted past mereciting “Katsu, Katsu, Katsu“, and three times returned to ask “No cod, whad’ya want ? “, or “What sort of chips”, and finally “It’s Pepsi not Coke is that OK ?”.
And you though old folks were indecisive.
In the time it took them to order two workmen had drunk half their Camden and Amstel.
Good to see it busy on a Monday, though I could have been in Clapham, buying Mrs RM that £10.45 G & T. Scary thought.
One left, and a cracker.