Not only is the Marlpool not in the current GBG (I did it years ago), I can’t even see the place on my map !
I do like a nice clock, more so one that tells the right time. Well done, Eastwood.
One of these days I’ll visit the D.H Lawrence museum, or read one of his book about gardening or whatever.
But for now you’ll have to make do with this illustration from Page 349 of “Lady Chatterley’s Lover“, which I saw on the telly once.
I couldn’t see the the Gamekeepers behind the scaffolding, but scaffolding is THE sign of a hidden micro.
Having dawdled around for an hour waiting for the 15:00 opening, it was inevitable that it had opened at 14:45 with the regulation Old Boy installed at the bar.
It’s a small pub, rather than a high table. So you get babes in arms, pint drinking mums (hoorah !), lager AND Cloudwater cans, and proper seating.
You also get, as Old Boy at Bar delightedly told me, HAPPY HOUR from 3-4 ! (It wasn’t actually 3pm yet, but we’ll overlook that technicality).
So my pint of Lenton 36 Degrees North costs £2.50, saving me the 50p that CAMRA folk demand as of right.
One for the purists now, so folk looking for banter should move on a paragraph; the Lenton was superbly conditioned and presented (NBSS 3.5) but a bit plain. A session beer in an era of sipping beers.
“Reminds me of Mansfield Bitter” I remarked, after Old Boy had given me the beer name.
Old Boy then provided an astonishingly detailed analysis of the merits of Mansfield from his career as a drayman. Genuinely riveting stuff, of which I understood not a jot. Stafford Paul would have been in his element.
More folk wandered in with shopping bags (not full of Panda Pops bottles) and the discussion turned to the horses and the merits of 50p each way bets.
I held my empty glass up to the Old Boy.
“Look at those lacings. Sign of a good pint”.
Genuinely wonderful. Perhaps I’m easily impressed, perhaps I’ve missed pubs too much. Yes, it’s that.