I’d decided to take the bus from Lancaster to Heysham for my ferry, so it was important, nay IMPERATIVE I didn’t go to another pub before boarding the bus. Any of you over the age of 30 will know the significance of buses and bladders.
So I just walked through town, did the tourist shot,
noted that the terrifying Cornerhouse had no cask (or I’d have been sorely tempted), and went to stand at the bus stop for 20 minutes. You know, the one opposite The Bobbin.
Well, who can resist a pub called The Bobbin ? The blog title potential is Premier League (and I don’t mean Man Utd levels).
I had no recollection of it from 20 years ago, but knew it wasn’t one of Lancaster’s Guide entries called “Cornerworks” or “Polly & Peter” or “Norovirus Nook” or whatever.
Just classic town boozer with weird features, a sort of student bar (think : Manchester’s Salisbury) for adults, with a touch of Wigan’s Anvil thrown in.
“What should I have ?” I ask the barperson, staring at a bank of pumps (top) with names that aren’t “Bitter” or “Mild” or “Bass”.
That one’s very malty, she says, pointing at the Cunning Stunt.
“That’ll do” I say. It’s great when someone doesn’t say “Depends do you like“.
She does say “Do you have a CAMRA card ?”.
I’d like to deny them, or apologise for being a life member, but I slip up and flash the gold card.
I’ve no idea what difference that makes, possibly it’s logged on a computer in St Albans or something.
Anyway, the Cunning Stunt, handwritten label and all, IS malty, and cool and doing well on a Monday (3.5).
It’s a great pub, loads of locals having a laugh, playing pool, feeding a jukebox (I presume) that lurches from Lionel (Richie) to Led (Zeppelin).
Cheery folk, too, directing me away from the Ladies to the Gents, where classic tiling awaits.
I stay to the end of the Zep deep cut, which gives me 30 seconds to dash for the bus. Don’t follow my lead, kids.