Suddenly, Waterbeach has come alive. Just like Peter Frampton.
ALL our cosmpolitan food vendors are operational in some shape or form, and we even had a food cart over the road from my parents selling Bao Buns this week. My parents stayed put.
There was a queue for the buns, and a queue round the back of the Sun last night.
I always join a queue. Especially when there’s blokes with jugs in the line.
Yes, our local has started doing takeouts from the counter. Only for an hour or so at the weekend, a pale one and a dark one, but two beers is plenty.
No-one has any idea when we’ll be able to go in pubs again, but the mood is as upbeat and defiant as you’d expect in retiredmartin land. We’re Fen edge, you know.
One chap is wearing the T-Shirt for the famous Sun Beer Festival we’ve just had postponed, and we chat about storms from the north and social distancing at the Chung Hwa just like you would at the bar.
Andrew fetches me four pints of Stout from the cellar, and I get slightly emotional about being back on the threshold of an actual pub. I’ve been in quieter rooms in open pubs.
As always, I feel a bit guilty about not using The Sun more than I do, and I tell him we miss it. I’ve bought one of those gift cards for when it reopens, and Budweiser have doubled the value to the pub. Hope it helps.
I’m reusing the inner bag from that 5 litre box of Papworth beer, which is surprisingly easy to operate
It’s not the same, but the Cellarman’s Stout from local Moonshine Brewery, decanted expertly into Bass and Augustiner glasses, was sensationally rich.
I’ve scored my kitchen an NBSS 5, anyway. Sadly we’d finished the bag in two hours watching Scandi-noir (“The Rain”), so don’t come round for a tick.