I met Matt for breakfast at the Koffee Pot yesterday,
and the conversation covered the usual topics; trade in central Manchester, how lovely it is that Boris has sired another child, and who the most rubbish Spotify Wrapped.
He asks me if I’m up-to-date with the blog. Well, this is last Thursday, so not bad at all.
A second Stamford tick, but this one is a penultimate tick in Lincolnshire (the last one in Pinchbeck has nasty hours. And is in Lincolnshire).
As Old Mudgie will tell you, St Martins over the Welland was historically part of Northamptonshire. Historic counties rate just below genealogy and ornithology on my list of interests (topics No. 1,377-1,379).
Best known for Burghley House where you can stock up on your equestrian supplies when you visit from Corby,
but otherwise a row of girls schools, antique shops, and gentlefolk hotels (including the famous George with the sign crossing the street).
How can I possibly have failed to spot the GBG potential of a small hotel proclaiming “FOOD. PINT. PILLOW” ?
There’s 3 gentle-ladies drinking coffee under the bay window, discussing The Exorcist. I have no idea why.
I take a half of Nene Valley (the posho’s brewery) into the corner, and wait for something to happen.
It never does, of course. And to be honest, the NVA (not to be confused with ’80s Compton rappers) is ordinary, but it’s worth the £2 to soak in the atmosphere.
They’d charge you £3.50 to see this much ephemera in the local history museum.
Odd soundtrack, too, and always a pleasure to hear Mavis Staples in a world of “Felix Navidad”, Ed Sheeran and the Angelic Upstarts (RIP Mensi).
Pubs are great, even when they’re not.