Welcome to the last post for my travels in July 2020, a tumultuous month of highs and highers.
Expect a euphoric Review next up, unless I have to go into hiding after my infamous Daily Mail appearance on Monday.
BRAPA may have endured 51 Surrey pubs last week, and now looks like my avatar, but I’m hated by someone called
Tim Sque with zero followers.
Coincidentally, my last hurrah in July came with a Spoons breakfast in Wellington.
Sadly, the old bit of Telford rather than the one with zero Coronavirus. Or the similarly workaday town in Somerset.
We left the beauty of Ellesmere early.
Yes, up at 5am, on the road before 7, parked up in Wellington before the hordes set off on the train to Wolves for Banks’s and pork cobs.
I had a strange desire to walk up to the Wrekin, that famous beauty spot folk Salop folk drive halfway up, have a coffee and cake in a cafe, and drive back down.
But somehow Mrs RM persuaded me a walk from the Council car park to the Spoons was what was needed.
By 8.15 we had our small breakfasts, sadly at a pre-“Rishi largesse” price.
I noticed a chap with a pint of Spoons near the fruit machine and asked the nice barmaid when they started serving alcohol (it’s normally 9am).
“We started 20 minutes ago my love“. Seriously, if that doesn’t make you want to move here, what would ?
Just a half of Ruddles that Mrs RM rated “Nice“. And it was.
The gentlefolk are returning. To Spoons at least. Next door they had the double joys of mobility vehicles and pawn shop (pawn not porn).
Wellington looked better than I remembered on previous trips to that Spoons and the smartish Pheasant. Clean, pedestrianised, floral.
OK, probably not enough pubby pleasures to warrant an Old Codgers Day Out when the masks come off, but I enjoyed the street art and a pretty indoor market selling faggots or something approximating them.
We never did get to the top of the Wrekin, though. Is there a micropub at the top ?