August 2023. Somewhere near Andover.
It’s End of the Road day. The campervan is packed with tents and chairs and salami; we’re off to see weird folkies in a field near Salisbury for 4 days.
We drive three and a half hours straight (aren’t they’re rules on this ?) and stop for lunch at the Plough in Longparish.
By a HUGE coincidence, it’s a new GBG tick, as well as looking ancient and gorgeous. Well, I’m sure it’s a new tick, but I can’t see Whiteparish in my GBG so I bring the good book in with me so I’m sure.
It’s full of septuagenarians, a word I’ll be able to spell without cheating soon.
I’m sure there’s something historic here to do with cricket. In fact, I was in the Cricketers Arms down the road only last year. And here in the Plough they’re commemorating their day in the sun at Lords in 1987.
By an astonishing coincidence, they played Treeton, which is the nearest village to the Rotherham pub we’d been in the night before. Spooky, huh ?
Looking at the scorecard reminds me I’m in Longparish, not Whiteparish, which is why I can’t find it first time in the GBG. Phew. I put the Guide under my coat. Yes, a week ago we were wearing coats.
The Plough is a community pubs, which means it’s allowed to have the crafty keg beers that septuagenarians love.
But I make Mrs RM and James have a pint of Black Sheep, the only cask pump.
It doesn’t look it now, but this was outstanding; cool and rich (3.5+). Will it retain a GBG place with only Black Sheep on the bar though. That would be an ecumenical matter.
The lady who comes out to lay our knives and forks and napkins and water glasses (a nice touch) out is wonderfully cheery and chats Sheffield Uni with James and wants to know about our trip. She’ll be fascinated by BRAPA.
I always say you should go for the house burger in an upmarket country pub, as I’m a creature of habit as you know.
There were three types; beef, venison and spicy chicken, and of course Mrs RM immediately wanted mine as soon as it came.
It was high quality, but there were too many chip, though leaving chips is still punishable by a night in the stocks in the Test Valley.
I went to the bar to pay. James shouted “Dad ! You’ve left my jacket”.
Half an hour later I realised I’d left my Beer Guide as well.
retiredmartin 
Oh no! Did you have to retrace your steps to retrieve the GBG?
We tried to make a first visit on a weekday afternoon recently that coincided with the week when they were temporarily closed due to a management issue. We ended up at the Watership Down, Freefolk. near Whitchurch instead.
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It’s a community owned pub so possibly a change of manager.
I remember the Watership Down pub. Idyllic location. And Whitchurch is gorgeous.
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Forcing people to have cask may be one step too far in saving cask. Are we morally allowed to force it down throats? What extremes are permissible? At gunpoint?
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Guns haven’t worked in forcing folk onto cask in the USA !
I’m much keener that pubs align supply to demand, and if there’s enough Old Boys to drink one beer that’s great.
And often there’s more demand for beers they’ve heard of than microbrewery beers with weird clips.
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Too many chips and not enough plates.
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