You left us in Boot, at the foot of the Hardknott Pass in Eskdale.
The toy trains come here, the Ladies who lunch come here, the 4x4s run you over here. It’s one of the top Lakes honeypot villages.
We went to explore Boot. It took 15 seconds, one for each resident.
FIFTEEN permanent souls (or possibly 10, Wiki isn’t good on maths), which means one pub per five locals. And a Post Office/ ice cream shop. And that’s it.
The eponymous Robinson’s pub ISN’T in the Guide.
I should have nipped in, anyway, as a GBG prophylactic, but pubs selling the wares of family brewers aren’t allowed in the Guide.
We pressed on the half mile to the Woolpack/Hardknott Inn (it wasn’t very pressing, compared to what was to come).
This had been on my GBG bucket list for many years, along with the Foxfield pub down the road, having been run for many years by Dave of Hardknott Brewery (much missed) who made really great beer.
There’s three possible entrances to the Woolpack, and of course I take the wrong one, twice, before a kindly bloke in the garden points at the least obvious one.
Inside, they’ve reached Track 7 of this;
“Some Might Say” really is rubbish, isn’t it ? Matt confirmed later what I longer suspected, Oasis really are a singles band.
Inside, multiple signs instruct me to stand still and wait. I wait.
Then I see one instructing me to sit down. So I sit down.
I can just about see the pumps (Tirril ?) from my allocated standing/sitting spot, so when my turn comes I order one of those (and a J20 for James, he’s a late developer), pay and head outside.
But not before taking a photo of the menu which is the prescribed way of choosing your lunch.
We choose the chicken wings and mutton & black pudding bon bons, and I head back inside to place another order (not real “table service”, see).
By now Oasis were onto “She’s Electric” and I realised we were here for the whole Story.
The nice lady puts a little fob on the bar surface. It’ll buzz when my food is ready and I’m to collect it from this room;
Yeah, got that. I rest my hand on the bar next to the fob.
“Would you mind not touching the bar, please“.
Yes, told off. Again. It’s a minefield, I tell you. Literally.
Most folk don’t like being told off for entering the wrong door, touching the wrong chair, standing in the wrong box. I know we need the rules, but look what it’s doing to our pubs, even in honeypots like this.
The beer was very OK (2.5), the food was very good, the views unbeatable.
We headed for the hills, but stopped for a Cartmel Fudge ice in the Post Office.