These are the days of our lives. Or they were, before the in-laws turned up for fourteen (14) days, making the pandemic seem like a holiday in Hull (mmm).
While the rest of the country caught the last train for the coast on Bank Holiday Monday, I headed for a Nottinghamshire mining village on the edge of Mansfield. I love pubs, me.
Rainworth was basking in 25 degrees heat (US : very hot), though there was no-one about to enjoy it as the locals head off on a charabanc to admire the nave aisles at Southwell Minster.
I admired a quiet High Street whose chippy had closed by 13:30,
and a brutalist cinema-turned-snooker club.
The Inkpot micro is inconspicuous, bar the umbrellas and folks holding pints of frothy Plum Porter.
The Guvnor bids me sit down outside, there seems to be an assumption only a fool would go indoors on a day like this, so I have to feign a comfort break to admire the pumps. “Feigning a comfort break to admire the pumps” is a key feature of the GBG tickers’ armoury in 2021.
OK, OK, it’s functional, but there are many, many functional new pubs in GBG21, and few of them will have pints of Plum Porter as wonderful as this (NBSS 4) for £3.
Half a dozen middle-aged folk (OK, probably younger than me) were debating Marjorie Proops and turning lobster red in the sun; who needs Lanzarote ?
Marjorie Proops was mentioned in Gilbert Sullivan’s second single in 1971, but the good folk of Rainworth weren’t really ready for that level of pop geekery.