Onward and (slowly) upward to the pashmina and prosecco capital of Wales, its Wilmslow, its Saffron Walden.
Actually, Cowbridge isn’t THAT bad. Unllike Monmouth, where the schoolchildren are immaculate, in Cowbridge all the tied are undone and worn loose round the collar à la Cottenham 1977.
The long High Streets appeals to mums and toddlers and gentlefolk and admirers of overgrown foliage.
But #PubMen ?
Well the Vale of Glamorgan is a Proper Pub.
But I did that in 2011, so sadly skipped past that, and the pitch fork shop,
on the way to 1 town hall square, all lower case folks.
Lovely setting, intriguing entrance,
traditional craft beer board.
“What can I get ya ?” asks the chatty young barman.
“Hang on mate, I’m waiting for Page 1 to come around again
like in the Carly Simon classic“.
It never did; I had the keg from Coach. Some will hate me. Do I care ?
Some will hate the seating here. I loved it.
Craft bar in creaky old building, like Pivni or that Trembling Madness in York, since by law I have to compare everything with everything else.
I notice I scored the Coach 3.5 and noted “sorachi ?”, but of course keg doesn’t have hops and you can’t score it on NBSS or you’ll be ex-communicated from CAMRA.
The Arctic Monkeys gave way to
Blue Blur, and a lady sang along “Boys who like girls who like boys who“. She was a terrible singer, and her husband “shuuushed” her, but I admire her effort (NB&GSS1.5).
Yes, just the two other customers in. Cowbridgians saving themselves for quieter times ?
The Vale of Glamorgan looked heaving though, and it’s a mark of retiredmartin that I walked past the door a second time that day.
Surely I’ll be back though. That Cowbridge lacks a Brunning & Price must be worthy of a Sue Gray investigation.