Even Kentish Paul braved the town recently; his report includes words like “Hanseatic”, “Bullards” and “Boondoggle” which may be of more interest to those of you interested in beer and history.
How appropriate that my final Norfolk tick for GBG21, squeezed in just before Lockdown 2,
Buoyed by praise from three top pub bloggers, (BRAPA gets to Norfolk in 2027), Lynn is on the up. Yesterday the Lynnets carried out one of few giant-killings in the FA Cup First Round, winning at Vale Park with their lone shot on target (see here).
But on Monday, the only
cup pint glass fever in Lynn was at the entrance to the Fenman, opposite the station.
“Please Drink Responsibly” chaps.
The town looked quite busy, with a queue for fents outside the Fent Shop at PF Day. If you don’t know what fents are, it’s always best not to ask.
Lynn is a mixture of scruffy and sublime that I confess I largely missed on trips as a surly teenager.
Quieter in the Old Town than the TK Maxx and McDonalds and Spoons, but then it always was.
But the Quayside, home to my new tick at Marriot’s Warehouse, was normally busy with gentlefolk in 3 warm layers from Leverington and Little Massingham.
Sadly, not today. It was just me at 11am.
But the welcome was warm and smiling.
“Choose a table, any table !“.
I managed to choose the table that a minute later seemed to close to a regular Old Boy with a wheezing cough I felt oddly nervous about, popping in for his 11:15 Guinness.
Just in case Old Mudgie was concerned about Lynn getting too edgy musically, I can confirm the preferred soundtrack is “Keep On Loving You“, “Time After Time” and this classic;
I’d studied the Marriot’s website for all of 3 seconds before deciding on the Energy Breakfast (decent half of Moon Gazer extra).
The cheery waitress (“There you go my lovely“) was quite excited at my radical choice, it was the chef’s first attempt at the feast.
10/10 for service, 9/10 for service, 7/10 for the food itself. The honey was still on my fleece a day later.
I leave you, for now, now with a life lesson. If your own photo of Lynn Quayside is rubbish, nick one off Duncan.