Right, let’s tick Burton.
2 minutes from The Crossing (not the Big Country album with the bagpipes) is the market square I never knew Burton had, and the pub I never knew existed.
It’s very quiet, but to be honest so is Burton. There’s more folk in pubs than in shops, just as it should be.
The Old Royal Oak looks great, bar the words written on the walls (discuss), and I don’t mind being first in at 16:00.
I enter to the sound of “Living On A Prayer“, possibly in the charts the last time the pub was in the GBG, and get such a great welcome I decide to have my tea here.
OK, it’s only a freshly-made up cheese cob (no onion) with cheese and onion crisps and a half of Fownes gorgeously rich Porter (NBSS 3.5/4), but that’s surely all you need ?
There’s some chat at the bar about Covid boosters and lost contact lenses; I’d had my booster that morning as well but couldn’t help with the contacts.
Actually, I wanted to join in the conversation when it reached the thorny subject of why women’s jeans don’t have proper pockets, a subject on which I like to mansplain, but I know better than to interrupt two women in full flow.
I paused to admired the scummy head on the beer, “Suspicious Minds” gave way to “Superstition“, and I knew I was in the presence of greatness.
What more could you want, except “Come On Eileen“. And then I got that, too.