It’s Fred’s fault.
“Please go to Papworth Brewery and its environs tomorrow, and then compose a picto-blog about it.”
OK, Fred. (Now you’re a yaga yaga).
I’d only been to Earith a year ago, one of our motorhome’s last excursions before Mrs RM replaced it with a sleeker model, a principle I hope she doesn’t apply elsewhere.
I never even knew there was a brewery there; perhaps there wasn’t in 2019.
But that’s the miracle of the internet. I tracked down Papworth’s finest to an industrial estate by the Hundred Foot Washes, sent them £18 for five litres (that’s ten half litres, Paul) of some malty beer, and had an hour to explore before sticking it in the boot.
Apparently, Earith is famous for it’s Bandy players.
You couldn’t make it up.
I spent ten minutes searching for the parish church. If I’d read my own blog I’d have known there wasn’t one. Dunno why I bother sometimes.
Empty streets, Curry House (great name), one pub that’s serves as the tap for Curry House, and a barber. What more do you need ?
Some impressive Georgian houses wind down to the Great Ouse,
and the Old Bedford River entertains us with its journey to nowhere (or Downham Market, which amounts to the same thing).
And that’s nearly it. Bit of thatch,
a lone ceramic horseshoe,
and the brewery.
It’s not like visiting the Hare & Hounds, is it ?
The nice man was filling my box from the fresh barrel as I arrived.
“You won’t get it fresher than that”
30 minutes later I had a glass full of lovely foamy BBB (reminiscent of Wolf or Cotleigh) in the sun. I reckon our garden could make GBG21, you know. I give CAMRA discount if it helps.
More importantly, Mrs RM had a pint in a Bass glass in her office.
I’ve decided it tastes best (NBSS 4.5) in Doom Bar glass, washing down crispy beef, spicy squid and Singapore rice.
But here’s the rub; we’ve already drunk about 3 pints each.
That would NEVER happen in a controlled drinking environment, and that’s why we need pubs back. Soon.