retiredmartin

January 2024. Harrold. Bedfordshire.

Despite not being obsessed about GBG completion anymore there’s still a modest thrill about finishing off a Guide chapter, even if it only needs one (1) tick, as in Bedfordshire.

Mind you, Harrold’s Oakley Arms is about as close to posh Bucks as you could manage,

a couple of miles from the hilariously upmarket Three (3) Fyshes (sic) at Turvey and the hymn writing centre of Olney.

It’s a tranquil part of the world I hadn’t visited for many years, an area only just escaping our new year floods.

Nothing moved in Harrold, not even a mouse, but there’ll all be out next Friday to watch Barbie, though probably not wearing pink.

Either that or playing snooker in the Institute.

I’ve airbrushed the irritating car (not a Bentley) parked outside the Oakley Arms; it would have been quicker just to tell him to move his car I guess but we need to make the most of our expensive I-phone technology.

Sadly I can’t airbrush the horror of the genteel gastro interior, the long tables to the left,

and the smaller dining tables at the bar.

There’s a sign entreating me to wait HERE to be seated, perhaps to take that seat while I wait,

but there’s no-one around and to be honest a quick half standing at the bar seems my best bet so I head straight there and risk a stern telling-off.

Service is pleasant and professional (i.e. you’re called Sir) rather than engaging, the Tring Side Pocket decent rather than sparkling, and the best part is the pinking afterwards. That little north-west corner is certainly the place to head.

It’s only as I leave that I realise, with some horror, that a half of standard bitter in Bedfordshire just cost me £2.80.

You do the math.