On the Friday we made our second campervan excursion of the season.
Somehow, I persuaded Mrs RM to spend a night in a mining village (pronounced “El-se-ca” by locals) on the edge of Barnsley.
Apart from being debonair and dashing, us pub tickers are noted for our extraordinary knowledge of UK geography. The cluster of towns and villages between Junction 36 of the M1 and Junction 37 of the A1(M) would make a challenging Mastermind subject.
GBG entries in Hoyland, Birdwell, Harley, Jump, Hemingfield, Wombwell, Milton and Elsecar have delighted us with their grit and grandeur, and confused us with their changeable Beer Guide listing.
Hoyland is the main town, and Brad is our main man;
“There’s nowt such thing as bad beer, it’s just they that keep it that spoil it”
I hope Brad is OK; I must pop back and have another keg Magnet.
But on Friday, our target was the (outer) car park of the Elsecar Heritage Museum, which contains Barnsley’s major bona fide tourist attraction*.
Folks some here for steam train days, Newcomen beam engine (?), teacakes, and an antiques centre selling cutlery recovered from Wombwell secondary schools in the 1970s.
It also sold the garden furniture that lasted us 14 years, and remained in Waterbeach when we moved at Christmas.
But 3 years ago it became best known for its own GBG entry, the beer shop-cum-cafe Maison du Biere taunting Simon and I with its Key Keg/keg dilemma.
“Did you see her twerking?” So glad that my view was obscured, no one wants a dog in the Miley Cyrus mould, not even in Elsecar.
Talking of twerking, Mrs RM was easily convinced to bag an outside table in the rambling garden (dodging the pooches) and delay our onward rail journey.
“Ggggrrrrrrrrrrmmmmph” is the best way I can describe the sound that came as Mrs RM landed on the seated keg barrel. Everyone turned to look;
You don’t get mildly embarrassing noises sitting on honest-to-goodness barrels of real ale, I can tell you.
There’s 3 things to note;
The waitress really knew her stuff; stick, styles, strengths (“The strongest one please !” said someone).
Pressure Drop from That London and Jaipur from That Bakewell were superb, in plastic glasses that didn’t seem to diminish the taste. The Jaipur was an easy NBSS 4.
Those plastic glasses were a refundable £2 each, and as we couldn’t catch the attention of anyone to return them we left them as an eco-charitable donation, which made it an expensive 20 minutes.
It would have been cheaper here, in times gone past;
That sign would look great outside our house, you know. Perhaps it’ll end up in the antiques centre at Elsecar eventually.
*excluding the Dickie Bird jumper exhibition at Jump, obviously.