No ticks in Dereham, with the best pub re-opening too early for GBG21 and the Royal Standard shut.
But, hoorah/boo, a new gastropub 10 minutes up the road was new in, open all day, and Charles told us the Brisley Bell had spent a lot of money on it to attract the North London pashmina set on their trip to the coast.
You could see where the money had gone, inside and out.
It was 3.30, we’d missed the lunch rush, and had the public bar almost to ourself.
We hoped the dart board were an affectation (rather like the hand pumps are in gastropubs).
Two homebrews will get you in the GBG, kids.
A chap in a suit turned up and took the window seat, and as the light streamed in it looked better than a Brunning & Price attempt at a pub, anyway.
We tried the Boudica, the Barsham and the Wherry, all in unique glasses.
Mrs RM had the Wherry in a handle, to the horror of the barman (and myself), and the best of a disappointing bunch.
But I couldn’t dislike the Bell. A couple came in for drinks, in the way you’d drive out to a village pub in the 1950s, which of course it still is in West Norfolk.
Talking of cars;