I’d parked up just south of Sunderland on Durham’s mining coast. It was a vibrant place before BRAPA went to the University of Sun’land in the late ’90s.
I’ve stopped off here to admire the cliffs at Easington and Blackhall en-route to Roker and had the beaches all to myself. And dreamt of a new GBG pub in the Hartlepool to Seaham stretch, so here it is.
Hawthorn’s Stapylton Arms isn’t named after City-supporting John Stapleton of ITV fame, but that’s my only criticism.
A gorgeous 30 minute walk along the Burn brings you to a Proper Village Pub where folk dress up to go out on Saturday night. Whole groups of them, taxied in from Easington, of which Wiki says;
“Notable for being the town with the highest percentage of white residents in England (99.2% white in 2001). It also has the UK’s lowest population of Jedi knights”
No Jedi knights, but apart from that All Human Life Is Here.
It’s a professionally run place, with the Covid measures reassuring but unobtrusive.
Two Old Boys in front have the Consett beer, so I’m getting at least (AT LEAST) the third pint of Red Dust that day.
Out in the garden it was a foamy joy (NBSS 3+),
though I felt a little self-conscious as groups of glammed up lasses arrived up for a giant birthday party* and noted the loner hogging a table for six.
Easington has been home to some famous names, including Pope Nicholas Breakspear (or Brakspear Bitter fame), Matt Baker (of Blue Peter fame), and Ian Cranson, the second most famous “Ian” to play under Lou Macari at Stoke City in the early ’90s (1990s).
I saw none of those on my visit. But I did see life.
*(No, YOU check the rules). At least there was no table moving.