GRIMSBY DOCKS

Only 9 days behind with the blogging now, or (checks spreadsheet) 28 pubs. Oh dear. Nearly as bad as BRAPA, who hasn’t even met up with me at the Champion on his blog yet.

Normally at this time of year I’d be telling you how wonderful Hull Old Town is, making a poor pun on Hull/Hell, and celebrating a new craft bar in the Fruitmarket, but I did that entry pre-emptively already.

Instead, I bring you glad tidings from across the Humber, with an ultra-rare trip to That Grimsby.

I hadn’t been to Grimsby since I drove to Pyewipe (a place not a noun) after work for haddock and chips in 2010, and then stopped near Scunthorpe for a half. Honestly, I should get out more, as someone once said.

Plenty of brushes with Grimsby since then, as Cleethorpes rises up the league table of great pub towns to No. 17.

But nothing new in Clee, and two (2 !) newbies in Grim this year. Let’s go !

OK. let’s start by admiring some random dead pubs (I hope they’re dead, otherwise you go in first).

I hadn’t done much prep for this, it’s hard thinking when you’re wearing a mask on the train, but I knew I had a brewery tap and a Proper Pub to do, both near the docks.

The world-famous Grime Street is a disappointment, but just like unloved Bootle some of the industrial heritage is gorgeous.

Beautifully situated behind Dunelm and Sports Direct is Docks Beers, highly rated by Duncan pre-emptively and therefore highly likely to be achingly crafty.

As I approached Google Maps screamed “closed today” but then I remembered the only true indicator of pub opening hours is an open door, and found myself seated in a shiny beer sampling place next to some shiny bins which I imagine is where they keep the ingredients for beer (water, and the “other things”).

Something from Axholme on cask was pretty cool and clear (NBSS 3+),

but as a few more folks of all ages wandered in (probably from Tesco Extra) and tried the keg I found myself increasing in need of a Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap Fish.

But I couldn’t attract the staff’s attention to order a half, and as you know you’d be terminated if you stood up or walked to the bar before the 19th. So I left.

I worried about writing that last bit, lest you think I’m criticising the staff, who were lovely. But I’m just not built for table service. Perhaps I’d drunk the first glass too quickly, perhaps my smile of request is too scary, perhaps I should just learn to wave my hand frantically about in the air and shout “Garcon !” like they do in Immingham.

Like Duncan said, it’s worth a return trip, combined with the pleasures of Cleethorpes.

But for now, I headed over the railway line into New Clee.

And you know what’s in New Clee, don’t you ?

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