I would have popped in the Tap & Spile for old time’s sake; there’s not many survivors from the mid-90s cluster of Taps left (Morpeth, Durham, Scarbs, Bangor, anywhere else ?).
But that was closed as well, and after admiring the street art on the corner I just popped in the first open door.
Which was a good move, as the Globe was exactly what I wanted.
Proper seats (I took the only free table as an Old Boy drained his pint and left), horse racing, “The Joshua Tree” as soundtrack, one hand pump. Yes, a blokey pub, but a clean and well-managed one (with a notable lack of swearing).
Looks good, doesn’t it ?
And it was; cool and crisp and tasty (NBSS 3), if not quite as full-bodied as I remember from the Oxford Bar.
I feel sorry for the sole Landlord, pushed into table service, rule enforcement and glass collection. But at least he gets to listen to banter about Prince Harry’s father and the “ee bah gum” Yorkshire Covid variant ALL DAY LONG.
Lovely stuff, and as I skipped down Priestpopple the hidden joys of Hexham revealed themselves.
Then I headed back to our hotel, where Mrs RM was studying the locomotive wall art.