East Yorkshire is always a great section of the Beer Guide to complete, and now I’m within a “short” train journey of some of the most GBG friendly towns on Humberside, or East Yorkshire as it’s controversially known.
As luck would have it, the trip to Beverley allows me to stop off twice on the way home, though sadly no new Guide entries in Hull* this year (or Leeds, oddly).
You know you’re near Hull immediately;
I’m amazed those cream phone boxes haven’t been turned into micropubs or taco booths yet.
I have a large spreadsheet with all the pubs I need to visit and their opening hours. In years past it would have said “11-3, 5-11” but now it says “When the owner feels like opening, if at all” or “Spoons”.
Wetherspoons are the ONLY place you can rely on to be open (subject to mysterious fires, of course).
It’s about time medieval minster town Beverley got its own Spoons, I guess; there’s about 19 in Hull.
Not much social distancing in that queue but I guess it’s safer than standing in the road.
Half a dozen folk stand at the entrance, bewildered, blocking entry to the pub.
I see a small table immediately inside and dive for it; the lady in front of me tuts (tutting IS the national pastime of Beverley).
My table give me access to the crème de la crème of confused gentlefolk, all with no idea how to order their £3.29 breakfast and unlimited latte.
I’d ordered a creamy NBSS 3 half of Ruddles (85p, half pint surcharge, boo !) and fired up my laptop to do a blog post (tut !) before the table opposite had taken off their coats. The Spoons app is great, isn’t it ?
But the gentlefolk HATED the App, raising their hands to try and attract staff, walking up to the bar, contemplating giving up and finding a Costa till they realised the coffee and panini cost the same as a meal for four with wine in Spoons.
But don’t take my word for it, here’s Simon back in the same seat as me (it’s been washed) exactly a week later.
My entertainment for an 85p investment amounted to a flustered chap screaming “Andy can you hear me ?” into his phone, possibly seeking advice from Andy on using the app, and a posh lady discussing French oral (lessons for her daughter Charlotte).
With 23 minutes till the train I should have popped in here,
but instead joined the throng in the market square buying frilly knickers and candles.
Or in my case, bread and cheese. The presentation could do with some work.
Beverley was the busiest town I’ve seen this year (average age 67), though oddly few of the visitors were attracted by the Minster, where a bride had just arrived by what looks like a blue 2CV but I’m no car expert.
Of course, if she’d arranged her wedding for today (Freedom/dumb Day) she could have licked the handpumps, but hey-ho.
*As Axholme Rob points out I must have done that flashy Taphouse in Hull pre-emptively.