I reckon one photo is all you need to guess where I went next;
If you know the Eleighs at all, it’ll be the famous Cock at Brent, whose bench seating lives long in the memory. In 1998 we chaperoned a young Norwegian IT consultant round the heritage pubs (and Stoke City) and she was a bit awestruck.
Monk Eleigh ? Never heard of it. typical Babergh village, 505 souls, big church,
village shop and pub.
Pleasingly, I was sat next to the giant map.
Mrs RM would say “tastefully modernised”, I’d shrug and wonder if I could see or hear ANYTHING from my high vantage point.
Now that Rishi is no longer subsidising our dining it’s hard to guess how busy our pubs are going to be.
No gentlefolk in the Swan, but two Old Boyd dutifully chowing down on burger and chips, which is what we need to see.
“What would you like ?” said a very cheerful Landlord, temporarily forgetting I couldn’t see the bar and would be shot if I attempted to visit.
“Adnams ?” I guessed, temporarily forgetting the horrendous glass.
It was very good, Beer Guide quality if you like. The local banter was better.
“‘Ow yer been Phil ?”
“Cutting the grass. Beth let me down“. Readers, never trust a Beth.
The star, though, was Brewster, who kept dropping a germ ridden bone at my feet, in between going mad when the church bell tolled.
“Are you OK with dogs ?” asked a considerate Landlady. I nodded. That’s the problem; say you don’t like dogs and they set the dogs on you.
Still, a Proper Pub that had the courtesy to be open; it’s just a shame such an affluent village offers such indifferent support at lunchtimes.
There were more villagers walking the bounds, and despite the gentle contours of the OS extract
it made a fine stroll.
Not sure I’d have wanted to drive up those lanes, mind.