18th February 2020

Tantalisingly close to being up to date on the blog, but those trips to find new ticks get ever more exhausting.

I’ve been lucky with the weather though, compared to the poor folk in Worcestershire whose cricket ground is once again a water polo stadium.

A first ever trip to Aslockton, on the “edge of Belvoir” as Rushcliffe TIC probably say.


This stretch along the A52 from Grantham to Nottingham remains pleasingly dull, though like Chelmsford a prison (no micro) dominates the OS extract.


I’ve just let BRAPA know about the Cranmer Arms.

That’s where we are im 2020, folks. Actually surprised a GBG entry doesn’t have numbers in it.

It’s gorgeously dull, and I’ve time for a walk to neighbouring Whatton before the hourly train, a boon for the 974 villagers, particularly when there’s towns 50 times that size without a station.



Not quite the next Cotswolds, but Aslockton plays on its Cranmer heritage, with this painting depicting a meeting with Henry to agree the Craft beer order for the Royal wedding.



A bird box not a micro

No craft here, just a beer range that combines Southern, Midland and Northern credentials.

Bass on 11 April?

Space for a little one” I ask, eyeing the unoccupied table.

Three Old Boys, a bloke in soiled work clothes and an Old Gal huddle around tables at the bar, worshipping an industrial size brown sauce container that’s whisked away as I sit down.

It’s for ‘is sausage roll” someone says, by apparent way of explanation.

They’re friendly, but hardly chatty, which I guess is what you want. Like Cranmer, I hate inquisitions. Particularly on the rules of pool.

The beer is foamy rather tham cool and crisp, but have you had a bad Black Sheep recently? Doesn’t happen.


I’m content admiring the Cranmer picture above a fire so hot it may actually have been the one where the Archbishop met his end.


Musically, we had “Nothings Gonna Stop Us Now” and “Never Gonna Give You Up”. Similar titles, same year, different worlds.

Despite dragging it out as long as I could, suddenly it was just lacings.

I’ve had better, I’ve had worse.

Si will love it.



  1. I tried to visit that establishment before a 3-0 defeat at Nottingham Forest once. It wasn’t open. Even the bloody post office wasn’t open. Unacceptable, even for 08:55.Thomas Cramner and fat Henry would both be appalled.


    1. Heretics and traitors – same thing to many – that’s all but seventeen million of us, isn’t it?

      Some bonfire, that.

      (And before anyone says anything, “those who are not with us are agin us”, as someone else once said.)

      Liked by 1 person

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