26th February 2020
You wait nearly eight hours (hours !) for a blogpost from retiredmartin, then you get three before tea-time.
I’ve trying to up with the blog before I give you the February highlights (Spoiler : only 43 pubs in a leap year), and here I am writing about a pub I didn’t even go in.
The Inn at Freshford looked a corker, in the picturesque valley between Bath and Bradford on Avon, two minutes from a railway station, local beer from Box Steam, tables with wine glasses and serviettes…
And an 11am opener, perfect.
There was even a huddle of Old Boys, ready at the door to makes sure my half wasn’t the first one pulled.
The clock ticked to 11:02, nothing stirred. No lights, no table reservations, no phones ringing to book tables for Mr & Mrs Hetherstone at 13:15.
“Should it be open ?” I asked the chattiest of the group, all of whom had OS maps in plastic wallets round their necks.
“Oh yes, I phoned them up before we set off. They SAID they’d be open”.
No opening times on the door, of course. That’s SO 1990s.
I re-checked the usual interweb sources.
We waited till 11:15. There was nothing happening. So we said our goodbyes. “I expect this sort of thing from micropubs” I said, unhelpfully.
“But they SAID they’d be open !” he repeated.
Obviously, if something tragic had happened that prevented opening or a note on social media, I apologise.
Say what you’ll do, and do what you say. That’s all.