Back in Leominster, changes happens slowly.
It must be hard being Leominster, even with the marvellous revitalisation of the Chequers, last year’s tick.
But with a squint and a bit of sunshine I can make it look pleasant enough.
And who can resist an alleyway of underwear;
Or the dresses with pockets for horses (top) by Lenka ?
Total tourists : Two, us, and to be honest it was painfully quiet 3 weeks after the Return of Pubs.
The Dutch cafe (not that sort) we so enjoyed in 2018 was inexplicably shut, and I thought for a moment of a record 11th different Spoons in July (purely for research).
But Mrs RM noticed the Press Room, a corner pub with scary words like “Craft” and “Italian” outside.
It used to be the town’s Tourist Office, guiding folk to the spot where Mrs RM and I had a raging argument about cheese.
Whoever owns it has done a fine job. Cosy, efficient, child-friendly, and with home made cakes.
Ignore the bar and the Shipyard. Inside that fridge was a very decent collection of local and, yes, craft beer.
When I mentioned my pre-emptive to Duncan this week (of course he’d beat me there) he just said “The one with the cakes ?”.
To prove we resisted the cakes as part of “Cut the gut”, here’s the bill;
A lovely* Dad came in with his young lad, and perused the snack menu ending up with a whole pork pie that would later feed them through the Second Wave.
“Awesome” he said, confirming the Press Room’s craft credentials, which were only mildly undermined by the anti-woke sign and pot pourri in the Gents.
*I wrote “Stand on ceremony Dad” in my notes but Mrs RM told me off.