You’re expecting tales of delayed trains and closed micros from my Lakeland licking, aren’t you.
Not a bit of it. The train pulled in to Dalton at 11:03 at the dot,
Lovely looking pub, from the big sign on the road saying “Open” to the inviting little garden to the two rooms full of horse brasses and yellowing newspaper reports.
And a Manchester City mirror, just for me.
Open at 10:00, apparently, and a group of Walsall fans must have caught the earlier train to take advantage of such generosity as they debated their tricky trip to Barrow that afternoon.
I had a steady start, just a half of Cumbrian Ales’ “Life Of A Mountain“. Actually, I asked for a pint, and got a half; the first time that’s happened (occasionally I very clearly request a half and get a pint). So my mission to be BRAPA was abandoned at the first hurdle.
Good beer though, a cool, crisp 3.5. And an Old School soundtrack of 1980s Barbara Streisand to go with the Old School pub seating.
The Walsall lads were debating how they’d split their imminent £20 million lottery win between themselves; I interrupted their plans to urge them not to send Barrow down in their first League season for 50 years in front of fans, and we agreed that Stevenage should be relegated in their place.
Talking of Proper Football;
I definitely caught Dalton (pop. 7,424) at its best; blue skies and 12 degrees in early March. A pleasing church, sturdy civic buildings,
and a pie shop. I’d skipped breakfast, so the Pie Shop it was for my “Daily Pie”.
The Peppered Steak wasn’t as good as the queues implied (NPSPSS 2.5), but two fudge brownies were, and those saw me through till teatime.
A satisfactory start, a new town AND a new pub, and some art at the station.
Just think, if BRAPA had dressed like that in Birmingham they’d have let him in the Colmore.