retiredmartin

March 2024. Bishop Wilton. East Yorkshire.

One day at home, either “home”, and I’m restless and irritable.

“We need to get you out” says Mrs RM, who acquiesces to my suggestion of a night in Whitby as long as it’s not in the campervan. Sunday night in March is as cheap as Whitby gets, as long as your chain hotel is a good mile out of town, but I don’t tell her that yet.

As luck would have it, the route took us via my penultimate East Yorkshire Beer Guide tick in Bishop Wilton, but only after a disastrous detour around Stamford Bridge that recalled the time the Japanese tourist hoping to get to Chelsea’s ground ended up in the Yorkshire Wolds.

I’m a fan of the Wolds, though my photo of Bishop Wilton doesn’t do it justice,

unlike this photo from 2019;

perhaps the OS undulations around “Cheese Cake Wold” tell the tale best.

I’m stealing BRAPA‘s pic of the Fleece.

So sue me, Si.

“Dining pubs going pubbier, I hope it is the future.” said Simon when the Fleece debuted last Autumn, and although on Sunday lunchtime there was that distinct smell of “Yorkshire roast underneath wooden candles“,

it still felt a place where Dad could play Lad at pool, Mrs RM could just stay for a half of cool Theakston (3.5),

while I nipped to the Gents to admire that combo of “Old fella” and “talking French dogs” unique to country dining pubs.

I nipped in the local community shop, ran by the most lovely volunteers, who sold me a wonderful homemade cheese bap/roll/cob at half price and made a nonsense of all you read about local shops for local people.

Thank you ladies, you made my day (even though Mrs RM scoffed the posh crisps).