A week of continuous travel, not much of it to pubs, and now I’m on my fourth (4th) train of the day and it’s only 10.13.
On Monday night I was in Oxford for my penultimate Oxon tick, Mrs RM parking the campervan in the first available car park (it’s a hellish city) and shouting “Be quick”, but I was already gone.
11 minutes ? 8, max. Time for some photos at dusk and I can still make it back in 20.
Nick of Prop Up The Bar infamy had warned me that The Plough @ no.38 would disappoint, and it didn’t disappoint in, er, disappointing.
It’s no Sam Smiths 3 Goat’s Heads, for sure.
Never trust a pub with writing on its ancient walls.
Or a “greeter”, however nice they are, telling you to SIT DOWN as it’s table service only.
Unlike Burford, the Plough is sparsely customed (?) on Monday evening, despite a stout from XT being pretty wonderful (3.5+) and the place looking a lovely place for “hearty eats”.
I tried to pay immediately, conscious of time, but you try paying in a place with table service mate.
I phoned Mrs RM to ask her to check if she needed to pay, swiped my card, necked my beer,
read the Oxford almanac from 1871 in the Gents, and sprinted back.
Mrs RM was still trying to work out the charge, which seemed to be £8.80 for ANY time over 20 minutes. Thieving Oxford.
I knew we’d be tight, checking in the next pub it seemed we’d missed the cut-off by a minute, and also had an extra £3 to use the Late Pay function.
So my half cost £15.30. I could have flown to Malaga for that. Mrs RM was livid, and rightly so. I would need to buy her TWO large glasses of Chardonnay later.