The weather on the Costa del Sol last week was a bit disappointing,
but it wasn’t as bad as that forecast. And Mrs RM and I prefer to be able to wear 3 layers of clothing with pockets to carry panda pops bottles for our samples.
Torre was the very embodiment of Saga, which I guess we should join now, so we can get cheaper recliners and slippers.
Anyway, large lunch and a bottle of wine done by 13:00, what to do now ?
Just wander aimlessly, waiting to see Brits fighting over a deckchair or poncho, I guess. And wish I’d left room in my tummy for more calamari.
“Ooh look” said Mrs RM, “British pub. You should go there“.
Established 1996, the year I started ticking in earnest (it’s in Durham, Dave), and the menu board looks unchanged.
I was unconvinced, but some of you will know how persuasive Mrs RM is, the Mrs Will Smith of the North.
English guvnor, obviously. I asked what beers they had.
“John Smiths Smooth“
” Oh, great!“
“Oh no, sorry, it’s gone“. The Bass of the Med, obviously.
“We’ve got craft beer, brewed by a bloke from Liverpool who does Beatles covers here“
I took two.
Proper matched glassware too, and a gorgeous Brown Ale closer to Newcastle than the Mersey. Honest, it was great.
Really liked El Mojito too. Rishi was delivering the budget, but we were treated to Bargain Hunt and gentlefolk who could have been in a front room in New Brighton.
Right, “British Pub” ticked, let’s go and see Chicken Itza.
Note the cat on guard.