The day after returning to Sheffield from London we had to head straight back down south for a family emergency (don’t worry, the Doom Bar cellar hasn’t been raided).
I negotiated a stop in Oxon (3 pubs needed) on the way, having seen the public transport options for Burford were a challenge;
Mrs RM parked up in the golden High Street and said “
Bring me back chocolate be quick then”.
It was drizzling, I’d lost Internet, I couldn’t remember the pub name, but I knew I’d already been to this one with its hilarious advertising.
Oh yes, the Angel. Looks oddly familiar too, but 23% of Oxon pubs are called the Angel (& Artichoke starter) and 37% are Hook Norton.
Looks gorgeous at night,
but inside was a sea of gastro.
“Sorry Sir, all tables taken”.
“Can I just stand at the bar with a half. I’ll drink it in 20 seconds, honest. You see, my wife…”
“Ah, say no more”
He was a good sort, even though it wasn’t the sort of place you stand at the bar, and I sensed the Old Hooky wasn’t flying out as quick as I was.
I confess, I may have taken 22 seconds, and then out into the night with a “Well played” following me.
Unsatisfactory in nearly every respect, except the tick.
Could the county town deliver the goods ?