retiredmartin

Mrs RM promised me she’d get me behind with the blog, and the April highlights post finds me nine (9) days and twenty-three (23) pubs behind. I’ll never catch up !

Do I care ?

Of course not. April saw me tick fifty-five (55) new GBG entries, a return to form after the Spanish flu of March . The GBG completion is back on ! (albeit ready to be derailed at any moment).

You can see the ticking progress in the lovely pinked map at the top. Expect a spreadsheet very soon.

Of course, life is more than just ticking pubs, it’s about me spreading my sunshine round grim southern towns like Lewes.

and keeping the UK hotel market alive in places like Devizes.

Devizes was, as always, wonderful, but the unexpected sporting highlight was my first trip to the World Snooker Championships at Sheffield’s crucible. My money is on Cliff Thorburn this year.

Pubwise, the beer was a little less great than previously, more 3- than 3+, as the fuel crisis seems to be hitting trade and beer turnover quite hard.

In Great Yarmouth, this classic wedge pub (there’s a posh word for wedge) was a joyous way to finish Norfolk,

but Pub of the Month goes to the Punch Bowl in Great Broughton, and not just because Workington needs all the accolades it can get.

This community pub (often two words to instil fear) met the Mrs RM 3 tests of friendly welcome, good beer, and free crisps. She’s easily pleased. But you knew that.

Beer of the Month was a tie between the Anarchy IPA in the Sheffield Tap,

and this can of German lager at the Jeff Rosenstock gig in Nottingham.

while the worst drinking decision was the bottle of Prosecco in Spoons on Easter Sunday.

I just realised I haven’t given you any of my modern music tips you actually read this blog for. And I managed 3 gigs last month’ punky Jeff, post-core Low, and poppy Matilda Mann.

Which brings me to my Preview of May, where I’ll be attempting another 55 new pubs in some exciting overseas locations (not Portsmouth), and trying hard not to get TOO excited by my gig in Leeds next week.

The American songstresses are back in town, singing songs about being old. Like, 25.

I can’t imagine ever being that old either, Alix.