Greetings from a campervan parked up in the suburbs of Dereham.
I’ve just visited 4 more pubs in Dereham (does a curry house count?), taking me to 40 since pubs returned on the 4th.
Here’s that list of the first 36.
Yesterday I failed to go to a pub, and have voluntarily referred myself to “Teetotalers Anonymous”.
Yes, it’s my fault pubs are dying.
Because, although pubs are as good as they’ve ever been, spotless and with reduced beer range, they’re too quiet.
36 pub visits. Barely a duffer. Friendly staff. Only one where I felt even mildly uncomfortable.
Pubs are, unexpectedly, as good as they’ve ever been.
Sure, the gentlefolk diners are terrified to leave their house, even as average daily deaths drop below the numbers killed in road accidents. Their choice.
I’ve never felt as safe, or as welcomed, in pubs as I have in July.
Only a quarter of those 36 have been new GBG ticks, too.
Of course, life is different. Pub Curmudgeon sums up the new normal on his latest post.
I miss the old folk. They make pubs. Perhaps half price fish snd chips in August will bring them back.
But a month ago I didn’t know whether I’d ever see pubs again.
But they’re back, you know.