Only a couple of days in Wales, not enough to make much progress in The Guide, especially with my driver “Tired of Pubs” , so we focused on some tourist activities by heading towards Magical Merthyr.
OK, the waterfalls at Ystradfellte are technically closer to Aberdare but that doesn’t fit my blog title.
The roads peter out as you leave the A4059, with some desperate looking motor-homes struggling to find passing places, police cars trying to rescue a stranded Ford Escort, and the lanes to the car parks looking as terrifying as any lanes outside of east Cornwall.
A dramatic piece of OS map but it doesn’t convey the terror of the last mile to the New Inn, where we parked.
I assume we were OK to park in the village car park, a couple of miles from the falls, as we arrived ahead of a weird 13:00 opening time. The village green hints at the complex booking and ordering systems in play,
in sharp contrast with the stark simplicity of the signage.
The pub website is as gastro as they come, but a lovely lady let us in early before the rush of Penderyn Pashminas.
“All our gins are Welsh” said the server.
“Oh, I wanted a TRADITIONAL gin” said the disappointed gin lover, clearly after Gordon’s.
The starters won’t win a Cheap Eats award but were superb.
And we had the joy of a bell you press for service. They can all go in the bin on Monday (in England, anyway).
There was an apology that was only one cask beer on, but I was more upset at the handle. The Evan Evans Warrior was the very definition of adequate (2.5).
Banter ? Well, sort of.
“I can grow my nails to any length”. “You’ve got LOVELY nails !”. Perhaps she had.
Worth coming for the food, the pronunciation of Moretti Zero, and Mrs RM’s horror at the unisex loos.
The walk to the waterfalls took about an hour both ways.
Was it worth it ? Press play below.
Apart from the suicidal sheep.
6 thoughts on “DIAL “MM” FOR MIDDLE-CLASS MERTHYR”
I dream of being able to be tired of pubs.
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You’ll be pleased to know Mrs RM regained her pub mojo in Glossop and Sheffield these last 2 days.
A service bell is what every pub doing table service needs.
It can call itself a restaurant then, too.
I’m with Mrs RM on the subject of unisex loos -I loathe them -even at home I have my own loo (the downstairs one ) which is decorated as I want & which my husband rarely uses (this is an unspoken thing -we have never actually actually agreed terms for said room )
Are the sheep black from going down the pit?
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