No, not me being nasty about Bristol’s ever enchanting suburb; see the address on Bing Maps;
The Apple Tree (keg, “lively”), was the pub we could see from our campervan as we braved a night wild camping in a big city. Tucked between city farm, closed church and light industrial estate, we slept soundly on Saturday night.
I had two south Bristol pubs left to finish Gloucestershire’s GBG entries, and Bedminster would be an ideal chance to get irate at young people having fun and spreading “R” before Avon becomes the next Merseyside.
Coo, ain’t Brizzle street art great ?
Bristol is renowned for its back street community pubs, a bit like Bristol or Sheffield I guess.
More bikes than mobility scooters at the Coronation, finally re-opening inside now they’ve got the divider boards up. Well done to the council (whichever one it is) for letting folk sit in the road in balmy Bristol.
Well done, folks. A top artistic job, and we felt very safe despite the omnipresent threat of protruding beards from the next cubicle.
And despite being 33 years older than the average punter (35 years in my case), the staff couldn’t have been nicer, although we had to order everything on the Butlr App. I now have 377 apps on my phone when the only one I want is the “Top Doom Bar Pub” app.
Very ’90s cask choice; Summer Lightning (good) and Butcombe. Even the keg Bristol Beer Factory (better) seems old skool now.
But it’s the pic of a pile of chips smothered in vegan muck you want to see, isn’t it. Seriously Seitan, as the vegan kids say (they don’t). Most of the banter was about chips, vegan or otherwise.
It was joyous. A lady with a hat carried a tray of coriander into the kitchen, Mrs RM followed her in, confused by the toilet signs.
Unisex loos take a bit of getting used to, particularly for us dinosaurs.