Some people idolise brewers; with me it’s the guys and gals who get magic out of the pumps.
Our own Andrew and Helen at The Sun, Jeff at the Ypres Castle, Terri and Jethro at the Blue, and the folk at Durham’s Station House and Stockport’s Petersgate Tap.
Meet Tom the Pub, a Southern Cambridgeshire legend, and an exception to my general rule that people called Tom should be treated with caution (sorry Tom).
I’ve never had much time for the south of the county, but that changed when Tom started tipping up at GBG deserts a few years back.
Its existence has felt a bit tentative over the years, Charlie Wells having little interest in a one room beer and skittles boozer (well, petanque in the garden).
Tom’s a modern publican, but the H & H is very old school unfussy.
Perhaps a dozen in post-Sunday roast, which is 4 % of the village. Rishi’s largesse (well, yours, really) will help the lunch trade and Tom is giving it a go by opening pretty much all hours.
No 9% American Imperial Stout, yet, so you get proper beers;
Sunday’s heat was a good test of the landlord’s craft, and the Grain and Tring were both as cool and crisp as you’d hope. Mrs RM had a second pint, of Youngs, in order to catch up with me on the #SavingPubs front.
A local came up and gave us a summary of his afternoon. “Three pints of Side Pocket and now making inroads on the greengages“.
A crafty keg of Grain on the bar, and crafty hand wash in the Gents, but a pretty robust little local.
I tried to get Mrs RM to do the walk past the thatch to the old concrete works,
How can you resist a Clunch Pit ?
The spirit was willing, but the flesh was two pints and some ready salted nuts weaker.
But I’ll come back with James; the walk across the old pits is one of Cambridge’s hilly joys, and if Tom is keeping his pub open all hours I feel a civic duty to drink the Youngs (or Bass if, y’know, he puts it on).