Pub No. 3, one that had caused me some grief with its determination to be closed ,whenever I was in the vicinity. You never had this problem finding an open pub in medieval times.
Exelby lies just below the mysterious Leeming Bar Services, possibly the only place in the UK currently with fuel.
It looks like a lot of roadside village pubs in Richmondshire, tastefully modernised to attract Mrs RM and slightly infuriate Mr RM.
Only a couple of drinkers I’m at 4pm on Sunday, which is a common picture across the week, across the country.
The pub lovers have rushed back, the casuals aren’t so sure yet. If you’re not open till Thursday then Sunday is quiet, where’s the trade ?
That said, the welcome is warm, the Landlord jokes at my expense as I get the Guzzler and the Landlord mixed up a third time (don’t worry, all beer tastes the same), and the banter about “that Emma Radacamu” is almost respectful.
By now Mrs RM is desperate for crisps, so I get sea salt and a bowl of nuts, and it all feels pretty pubby, particularly as the beers are both cool and crisp (3+). I’ve no idea who makes York Guzzler these days, but there’s a decent beer hiding in there if it sells within a month.
Onward and upwards. And, indeed, sideways.