The North Wales holiday coast isn’t typically top of a ticker’s bucket list, but in recent years I’ve made the case (and lost it) for Rhyl and Prestatyn better that the Flintshire Tourist Office. Can I do the same for St Asaph, coincidentally bearing the same name as the stately cathedral that dominates the
As Pub Curmudgeon will know, of UK cities only St David’s has a smaller population, but St David’s has less takeaways.
Hoptimist/Dovecote have brough craft to Rhyl and Abergele, but St. Asaph bravely holds on against the onslaught of 6.8% murk, and delights us with the New Inn, a plain but loveable Lees house for our ticking.
Probably as many Lees GBG entries in Wales as Greater Manchester, and I don’t think I’m making that up.
Mrs RM takes the seat on the balcony outside, leaving me to investigate inside. Technically, you can’t count a tick unless you step inside, drink a pint, and make at least one comment about the weather with a local, but some tickers have lax standards.
CAMRA Discourse has recently been discussing the morality of taking photos of pub customers, which is why I consciously decided to obscure the three (3) old boys here.
That’s my excuse, etc.
“Which one should I have ?” I ask the Old Boys, two (2) of whom are drinking cask. They alone make up 34% of the total cask custom in Flintshire that day,
“The Tan Y Drraig” one says, decisively, showing an allegiance to a Welsh sounding beer brewed in Middleton. I would have picked the Bitter.
The cheery barmaid tells me not to sit on one side of the long table or it will flip up, which would make a great video but I don’t fancy a night in Connah’s Quay A & E.
Mrs RM is delighted I’ve brough those fish and chip biscuits, and tickled by the expiry of the Cask Marque certification. I should have explained that Cask Marque (allegedly) means nothing more than that the beer is kept in the freezer but I’m no beer bore.
The unpronounceable (and cheap) Lees brewed for the local market is cool and crisp (NBSS 3), the barperson cheery, the birdsong beguiling, and the garden vast. I’d have happily stayed there all afternoon.
But our next pub opens at 16:00, so there’s just enough time for a look round Tweedmill Outlet Centre.
For those of you familiar with shopping centres, this is Grantham Downtown rather than Bicester Village.
It’s also hell on earth. We bought a duvet with bees on it for about 23% of the RRP.
NB Mrs RM had been waiting at the wrong Conwy car park when I finally came to rescue her.