Next stop, Pumsaint.
Like the mines, it’s owned by the National Trust, voted British Country Pub of the Year 2019, so bound to be open all day selling cream teas and the odd lukewarm half, surely ?
After all both What Pub and the pub’s Facebook say it’s open all day Thursday. So of course it’s shut.
Still, at least they’ve put a note on the door you reach once you’ve parked up and got your pink marker out, eh ?
Mrs RM is more exasperated than I am. “Don’t they want business ?“. Who knows.
Luckily, 20 minutes away (after a wrong turn I blame Mrs RM for), there’s a country pub that does want your business, in
The Black Lion in Abergorlech at the heart of the “thrilling Brechfa Mountain Bike Trails“. Quite what’s so thrilling about biking I never discover, as our own mountain bikes are safely locked away in our garden shed and will never see the light of day again.
As I mentioned before, by law Welsh pubs have to be called either the Seven Stars, Jones the Butcher Micro or the Black Lion, and a Black Lion MUST have black and white beams, fleeces and home-made Bara Brith.
Because I deleted my notes*, I can’t tell you whether there was Bara Brith, but since my body is a temple I would have refused it anyway (
as I had a Chinese takeaway in mind later), but the photo reveals dangling lightbulbs and Evan Evan Warrior, which was OK (3).
Steve Wright in the Afternoon nattered on, and the landlady assured us it was often busy when I complimented her on actually being open.
A distinct absence of banter, as there were no other customers at the Golden Hour, until a group of gentlefolk came to crowd round the bar and examine the cakes just as they left. NONE of them had an alcoholic beverage, instead devising increasingly complex coffee orders.
I thought about urging Mrs RM on towards the joys of the coast, but having booked Carmarthen for the night I instead pressed on towards two easy ticks there.
Now, that’s a proper hotel.
*Just found the notes for Wales. They won’t be replacing the Dead Sea Scrolls anytime soon.