12th February 2020
Slightly out of sequence, these next two. But then one of my readers, probably called Derek, would no doubt have studied the next photo and declared “Sir, Jupiter looks particularly high in the sky for a visit after 8pm on a Thursday“.
That’s the view over the flooded plains above Buildwas Abbey as I approached Telford, following in the footsteps of the great Quosh.
I haven’t been to the Ironbridge villages for six years, since I had a meeting with Telford GPs opposite the All Nations Inn. How I miss NHS reorganisations.
Jackfield is a mile east of Mr. Telford’s bridge, and approximately 7.2 million light years from Telford town centre.
Best known for its tile museum and collection of “lifestyle” outlets that occupied Sis and Mrs RM while I popped in the riverside Boat Inn once.
Great walking, loads of pubs round here, 3.7 per person. The GBG one nearest the bridge was shut, being a micro and all, but the Black Swan was keen for our business.
Half a dozen retired gentlefolk ramblers, and me (oh), and a new member of staff on handpump duty.
My notes always make disturbing reason, particularly when I subsequently leave my phone in my back pocket and sit on it.
Both new girl and tutor were exemplary by the way. The Landlady explaining how to pull, let it settle and to pup, and how to advise customers looking for the dark or local beer. “
And if they ask for bitter they mean John Smiths Smooth“.
Shame that the beers are called “Old Prickly” and “Wainwright” rather than things like “Bitter” or “Pale beer”, then.
It’s a pleasant small dining pub, the garden’s the star, and I would have had the Proper Food which was causing a lot of egg questioning at the bar (they weren’t interrogating the egg, that would be silly).
Buildwas looked even more dramatic on the way out.
But nothing compared to what was to come….