I first finished all the entries in Bedfordshire in 1999 (the famous “rubbish” edition); helped I lived 3 miles from the county border. It’s taken me near 30 years to complete Cumbria, mainly because I couldn’t be bothered.
So many of the entries aren’t in the Lakes, they’re in remote little farming villages you’ve never heard of and can never get to. Until Mrs RM said “Let’s do it !” (possible she meant the garden).
Great Asby has some pleasing limestone scar to the south, but otherwise it’s reputation rests on a little stream. “Asby Gill runs through the middle of Great Asby although this gill tends more commonly to be dry except after heavy rain” is pretty much all Wiki has to say about the place.
I’d remembered this as a bit dull, but my notes (saved in triplicate) recall the Three Greyhounds fondly.
The dangling sign is rubbish, but compensated for by the literal representation on the wall.
I want to see a literal representation of “1000 Trades” on a pub wall.
Pub names used to be so simple.
The Three Greyhounds is ticking over nicely at 17:30, a good mix of village life on the flagstones.
Great guvnor, two beers on, I pay for the localish one and head for the loo.
Great loo art, too. Is that BRAPA in the centre ?
Back in the bar I’m about to take a pic of the pot.
“SCUSE ME ! Has your beer gone ?” booms the Landlord.
I’m confused, he means is it end of barrel. It tastes good to me, but then I know nothing about beer.
But never mind beer. The folk here are jolly, but the conversation is so deliberate I wonder if I’m in a Radio 4 Play for Today.
“I WAS that soldier” was one memorable (I’ve forgot the rest) punchline.
“I’m just enjoying a relaxing pint. Aaah” to his wife.
And a long, long debate on the problems with the A66. Tell me about it, I thought.
I loved their clear diction. Made taking notes easier. Si will love it, if he ever gets there.