If your perfect pub is a symphony in brown (with a pint of BBB in a straight glass), then a perfect English town might be a symphony in black and white, like Chester.
It MIGHT be, though I still prefer the continual change and modern v medieval of Manchester.
Pub Curmudgeon missed the Gnome on his visit, but he DID visit the Boot, and I thought it was time I followed suit.
It’ll never make the GBG, and I wonder if I’ll ever again have the joy of visiting a new Sam Smiths pub in the Guide.
Mrs RM has visited a fair few Sam’s over the decades, mainly as a London undergrad, and the Olde Boot drew her in as much as me.
“Mobile phones are banned in here” I told her, heading for the bar.
No greater love hath a wife for her husband than that she wilt take a photo in a Sam Smiths pub for his blog.
The young barman, sharp as a knife, admonished her using the Sir Humphrey rule book.
Mrs RM looked shame-faced, but the work was done.
It really is a gorgeous pub. You’d visit even if it didn’t serve beer, and to be honest the OBB had that slightly sharp taste you often find that can’t be explained by lack of turnover as the Boot was ticking over with a mixed crowd.
“Talk to each other” demanded the sign at the door. So we did, mostly about our grazing feast, but we didn’t linger, not when Mrs RM is prone to swearing like a trooper and all.
And besides, you really DON’T want to go to bed in a campervan full of beer too often. Not when the car park loos are closed.