Another day, another late assault on a GBG21 county.
I left it quite late to tackle Worcestershire, with a couple of stragglers down south on the Wychavon Way.
and a fly. It’s all action on the retiredmartin blog at the moment.
What a gorgeous little village, overgrown gardens and folk selling cider from their front yards.
Actually, it was a bit scary when the bloke carving the giant pumpkin waved his knife at me.
The roads run out at the foot of Holcomb Nap. Unless you’re former Hull Tigers midfield general Ian Ashbee, who is revered down this way for mysterious reasons.
Everyone I walked past said “Hulloah, stranger” and then returned to their carving and grouting. This really is “Lil ol’ England“.
I was relieved to finally get in The Star on the dot of noon.
Well, actually, it was 11:53, which proved crucial when I asked for a Ploughman’s Lunch with my Gold and was told, plainly, that I couldn’t because the kitchen wasn’t open.
No “I’ll take your order now” or “Come to the bar in 5 minutes“, just “No“. And by 11:58 I’d finished an unsatisfactory half and was on my way anyway, to put my coppers in Tim Martin’s coffers.
So you never will know whether that Ploughman’s would have offended Pub Curmudgeon or not, will you ?