This might seem like flogging a dead horse (better than flogging a live one, tbf), but I’ve got nearly 20 useable photos, which I reckon means TWO (2) posts from Clay Cross. So don’t worry if Part 1 is a bit “pubby”, as Part 2 will clear up Cobs v Baps and recommend the best sugar-free throat sweets.
To win that £1.60 bottle of Wickwar milk stout from B & bargains, when was my last tick ?
Well, Mrs RM, Clay Cross is a dreary Chesterfield suburb. So there.
The pubs aren’t dreary though.
You can trust a pub where the bloke at the bar has a rucksack that’s bigger than your wife.
Quietly modernised, Lilley’s ciders, Jaipur and Bradfield. You get the idea.
But of course we’re shown to an outside table by a landlord I can only describe as friendly and a bit overawed by the upturn in business since Monday.
Two dozen folk across the ages at 11am on a Thursday. We pick the table with the best view and least shade, and ponder which fourteen (14 !) items to pick.
Foamy beer, “We Don’t Talk Anymore ?” on the speakers, salad with the breakfast, brown sauce in a ramekin. A ramekin !
“Have Clay Cross folk ever seen salad before ?” I ask Mrs RM, at the very moment a panic stricken lad on the next table removes his leaves.
An old lady, Megan Rapinoe in 40 years time, in a pink jumper wanders past and drops her ash over the wall.
At that moment, I feel reborn. #PubsAreBack
*ALWAYS milk before hot water, fools.