I always despair at the lack of geographical knowledge of the UK by us Brits.
Listen to the BBC coverage of County Cricket and marvel at the BBC Yorkshire correspondent who has never heard of Bewdley, or the Essex correspondent wondering where Aigburth is.
And you must NEVER ask a Londoner where The North starts*.
By contrast the Southworths know where Leintwardine is, and can almost pronounce it. But when they next pop over to Heathrow to tick micropubs they MUST be clear on the difference between Chobham and Cobham.
Both in Surrey, but one is famed for its service station, the one closer to the gated communities of Woking famed for its knitted post box covers.
The one above commemorates the (near) 70 years of CAMRA Life Membership of Mrs RM and myself before we were outed as “freeloaders” at Eastbourne.
No idea what the Chobham cannon commemorates, possibly the battle against a Craft Union pub in a town now housing a Brunning & Price AND a micropub.
Mrs RM sat in the campervan in the car park by the cricket ground while I waited for the 3pm opening. Just enough time for a picnic from the Tesco Express, a visit to St Lawrence,
and some concern that the old phone box that should contain the defibrillator now contains the entire works of, well actually, they’re management textbooks by the look of it.
Blimey, Chobham was busy, the main road resembling a motorway flanked by estate agents and haute couture (whatever that is) shops as the place is used as a rat run between the metropolises (metropoli ?) of Woking and London (wherever that is).
Obviously the Horse & Groom wasn’t quite open at 3pm as scheduled; you can see that by the red light.
It was a nervous 10 minute wait (would I need to stick an extra 40p in the ticket machine ?), but when I put my head round the door for the 7th time I got a lovely welcome from the landlady.
As you can see, there’s a wide range of seating.
And a nice tight range of those local beers that scares me in gastropubs but seems about right in a macro where folk drink cask.
I had the Thurston, obviously a Sonic Youth-themed beer. Note how I count out the coins and leave them on the mat to soak in the beer.
Cool and rich, at NBSS 3.5 it was one of the best of the trip. The landlady enthused about running a pub and all the weirdness that goes on and I nodded sagely in agreement. She was a gem.
And then I had to go to Reigate.
*It’s Stoke. On Trent, not Poges