Mrs RM has halved her workload to
spend more time with me read Russian novels, so I took her into Cambridge to celebrate her nearly freedom.
It’s the first time we’ve been out drinking in Mill Road since a great afternoon with BRAPA which ended with him almost missing his last train and boarding without a connecting ticket. Newark station police are still investigating.
Si enjoyed the Cambridge Blue. But who wouldn’t ?
Even on a damp Wednesday afternoon in October, the Blue was still doing a decent trade, stretching the cheery barman/greeter/Govt agent to the limit.
I managed a couple of shots of the bar on the escort to the conservatory, which seemed to have acquired even MORE
I chose the seat under the Bass clock, which sadly wouldn’t fit in the trenchcoat I’d worn especially for the attempt.
Now, the beer in the Blue is always marvellous, but what really brought a tear to our eyes was the sight of a grandma educating her toddler in the joys of PUB. Long-standing Landlord and Landlady Jethro and Terri run a welcoming house.
Mrs RM gets excited by beer lists and downloadable apps where you can see the choice. I hate that. That’s what the bar is for.
Actually I’d seen the Duchesse in the fridge, and despite the barman claiming it had gone (obvs saving it for Jethro) I staked my claim.
Why go for a Belgian sour, when the Jaipur was dry and gorgeous, and the Nene Valley (do they own Cambridge now ?) equally lovely ?
“Urgh, it’s VINEGAR” said an uneducated Mrs RM after a sip, allowing me to enjoy my beer in peace for a change.
“We had that exact discussion in Brighton !” I reminded her, and it was true.
I love mansplaining Belgian sour to Mrs RM; VIZ should do a piece on it.