August 2023. Chester.
Back in Chester to end the night with the obligatory “craft beer” in the suburb and ill-advised Chinese takeaway which I’m still finding the remains of in the campervan a week later.
The Shot Tower would make a great micropub. Perhaps it already is, and nobody knows.
Elsewhere on the route to Boughton, all is black and white,
apart from the Bluestone, where I suddenly seem to be incredibly tall.
These neighbourhood bars with a few keg taps (Brew York’s Bid Eagle was nice), all clean lines and high tables, are hard to write about so I won’t bother,
and instead tell you that the Sea Breeze is one of those rare Chinese takeaways where the dish prices includes a portion of chips or boiled rice, and you negotiate an upgrade to egg fried rice.
I have no idea how good my negotiation skills were by that point, but was clearly swinging a plastic bag down to the walls 20 minutes later.
I don’t think the Albion would have served crispy beef and egg fried rice, though I never ate there.
But in the morning when I did a circuit of the wall and took a look I was delighted, if surprised, to see it virtually unchanged since the death of legendary landlord Mike Mercer in 2021.
And when I return to the Little Roodee again I shall definitely pop in and ask for a taster.
retiredmartin 
So how old was the Wheatsheaf when it became Ye Olde Wheatsheaf, one wonders?
The stone carved name causes a degree of bafflement on my part, though that does not imply complexity or intrigue.
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The Albion sounds fun, not. Fair enough on the stags and hens, but I can never understand those in ‘hospitality’ that put up forbidding notices.
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