Yes, it’s Lincoln !
Living in Sheffield gives you access to all of England’s great towns by rail; Lincoln, Derby, Retford…
Mrs RM joined me on my first official ticking expedition of the new Guide year.
The lone new GBG entry, the first for a while, had a locked door but a smiley face.
I don’t know what thugs they were trying to keep out; angling addicts from Gainsborough, I guess. But we were politely told a group of bikers had reserved all (“all” = about 4) the tables so we’d have to find a seat against the wall.
Definitely not a Herne rules pubs, with music ranging from Creedence to Tones And I and table reservations, though the Pheasantry Dark was as superb (3.5) as these lacings suggest.
I went to leave a copy of the Derby CAMRA paper in the CAMRA rack (very micro), noting that the Lincoln one was late 2019, and my attempts at conversation foundered, as they often do.
It was jolly enough, though I had to talk to Mrs RM as I couldn’t attempt conversation with other visitors over “Common People” (played for their Sheffield visitors I guess).
But it had real character, and you could spend hours what the ketchup was doing on the ledge.
So the tick ticked done within half an hour, I prepared Mrs RM for the steep hill known locally as Steep Hill.
But first we headed through the impressively modernised University quarter, and I failed to get Mrs RM to get her photo taken as a Lincoln Imp.
Now Blackpool Jane is the Queen of the tourist blog, and I fully intended to follow Jane’s culinary trail as I did in Southport,
But we were distracted by Wagamama cast members handing out little pots to try, and joined a queue, because that’s what made this nation great.
It really wasn’t unfit for humans, even me, and we enjoyed only our second ever lunch at Waga’s, even though Rishi wasn’t in the kitchen. Lightning service too.
A plate of squid and noodles fortified Mrs RM for the walk up to the Cathedral,
where we were immediately accosted by some students doing market research on visitors’ views on the craft market.
which we hadn’t even notice as we were looking for a) a pub and b) a loo, respectively.
Mrs RM then complained about the ladies, which were charging 20p a pee, and I hid in the Cathedral.
I suspect you can work out which pub we ended up in, but feel free to guess.