More fearless pubbing in the wilds of Norfolk, the inexplicably popular* county that came 71st in my list of top UK GBG counties.
Pleasingly, only seven new Norfolk entries this year, six of which I’ve already forgotten.
The Horse & Groom at Tunstead, on the edge of the Broads, was memorable only for a tense exchange about Rugby (Union. Not even the proper one).
Nice sign, unfussy village (pop. 744) pub, unwelcome drizzle, welcome sight of lights on.
It’s a shame Lockdown 2 has arrived just as I’ve got the hang of the September rules.
Enter (the right door), apply hand sanitiser, stay well clear of anyone dithering inside, take out phone and pretend to find NHS App but actually take surreptitious photos, log in to the NHS Track & Trace, wash hands again, present myself 2 metres from the bar and smile, scarily.
“Would you like me to sit down ?”
I can be well-behaved when I need to be.
“Would you like to sit through there and watch the rugby ?”
“I DON’T LIKE RUGBY !!!“
I sat by the window in the family room.
The Landlady brought my Wherry (only marginally better glass than the one the Adnams would have come in).
She was wearing one of those Swing Low, Sweet Chariot World Cup 2015 sweatshirts. I flinched as she left the glass on the side of the table and proffered the inevitable card machine, I gave her cash.
It was actually a lovely 3 roomer; food, family,
football rugby. And the Wherry was cool and foamy (NBSS 3).
Amen Corner sang what I assumed was their only hit (I was wrong),
a family ate crisps and discussed R rates in Wroxham with their Emilys and Charlottes, and I remembered how nice it was just to sit in a pub as the rain pattered against the window pane.
But I still HATE rugby.
*I blame David Bowie, but then I blame Bowie for a lot.