Mrs RM, restored to full happiness by the purchase of a duvet with Manchester bee decoration in St. Asaph, pressed on past numerous roadworks to Tremeirchion. We’d taken these tiny roads, akin to deepest Devon, last August when it was unexpectedly closed and we had to make do with a Brunning & Price in Bodfari instead.
As new and welcome commenter Rhys said last night, it’s not unpronounceable when you can pronounce it.
Wiki describes Trem, as the 703 locals call it, as a small residential community rather than village, possibly to prevent it winning the “Denbighshire Best Kept Village” award every year.
Open from 16:00, we arrived with 90 minutes to wait and worry. I slept for half an hour, the benefit of a campervan life, and then scoured Wiki for interesting detail. “The first recorded vicar, in 1350, was Dafydd Ddu Hiraddug“. Ooh, that would score highly in Scrabble.
At that point, I saw the door mysteriously open, 30 minutes early.
Yes, in stepping into a pub apparently open early, you MUST allow your shadow to go first and enter with glasses pointing outward (Ticker rule 36 v.ii).
It didn’t look open.
I walked in and out for five minutes, attempting to be noisy, but failed.
Time for the handpump shot my readers expect. More excitement on the back shelf; what is that bottle marked “Cherry” ?
I could hear activity outside; perhaps it was just a delivery of dry-hopped Wrecsam Lager ?
But no, at that moment, a nice lady appeared, seemed pleased of early custom, (“4pm is our official opening but we’ll serve early while we’re getting ready“), and a minute later I was taking a decent half of Dovecote IPA on a tour round some lovely unspoilt rooms.
Any poster that starts “Mr John Marston” makes a pub worthwhile.
But without other customers, or anyone at the bar to annoy, and Mrs RM in the campervan, it was time to head on to the Clwydian hills, one of my favourite places on earth.