retiredmartin

Many criticise the Beer Guide as a collection of drinking clubs for the middle-aged topers who enjoy ticking handpumps perched on uncomfortable high seats.

But those of us who actually use the good book will know that the new entries continue to confound and delight with their variety; cricket clubs, creche-cum-coffee houses and good ol’ fashion back street boozers.

Two years ago Lymm gave us a rare slice of Hyde’s in the GBG, now we’re back for another non-gastro treat.

Always a pleasure to visit Lymm, however you arrive.

You’ll remember this as the place where BRAPA insulted the locals by asking whether the village was in Greater Manchester. The spot where Simon was sacrificed to the God of Proper Counties is a place of pilgrimage for many.

Some come to see the dinosaur footprint. It’s hidden, unrecognisable behind grubby plastic and I doubt its provenance.

Having rubbished Lymm’s tourist trade, let me urge you to come here to visit the Saddlers Arms, hiding across the road from the crafty bar.

Honestly, it’s wonderful. For the benefit of Dick and Dave, it’s a northern version of the Rising Sun in Bewdley; homely, irreverent, friendly and chatty to strangers.

OK, no Banks’s Mild on electric pump, but a lovely glass of Big Bog (see lacings) for £3 when the average pint round here is probably £4.52. Perhaps because the beer is so cheap, I hear “And your own” a few times, a northern speciality.

“There you go, Mary” she says, taking her empty glass and depositing a fresh pint.

“I ain’t finished yet !” says Mary. I think she means the old glass.

“Sorry Mary“

“No, I mean my story“.

The conversation is relentless, mainly about heroic levels of lockdown drinking.

I feel a bit out-of-place, but the barmaid very kindly brings round and offer me some complimentary cheese bites. I’m chuffed to bits by that, but turn them down, as I’m on a diet, the guy at the Bordesley BBQ told me I must be when I asked for a diet coke.

A gem.