retiredmartin

March 2024. Newport. Salop.

A last pub of the night in Newport. There’s more than 3 here, but 3 seemed plenty as we’re approaching middle age.

“My pub is virtually next door” I called to Mrs RM,

which was a bit of a lie as it was 200 yards and it wasn’t the Shakespeare even though I said I’d visit all the Shakespeares in an idle moment (note to self : never be idle).

The Railway Tavern looks the part.

A Joules, a Titanic bod, and now a Black Country Ales. Expect a Davenports in 3 years time. Pubs run efficiently by small breweries, it’ll never catch on.

A real friendly, community feel, Hi Vis and couples and single old boys; it’s closer to Stafford’s Bird in Hand than The Wellington.

Pints are the order here, so I feel a bit feeble ordering 2 halves of Pig and the Fireside.

Coincidentally Mrs RM has pounced on the table by the fire, bless her,

and within 20 minutes we’re completely recovered from that drenching 2 hours ago. Where else could you go in a town to do that?

The soundtrack goes from “Heart of Glass” to “Freefalling“, pitched squarely at a crowd in their mid-to-late 50s, if you can find imagine anyone that old.

The beer is OK but lacking crispness (NBSS 2.5+), a feature often spotted in the BCA pubs with more hand pumps than cask drinkers.

Mrs RM pops to the loo, followed by a call of “The ladies is over there love“. I decide to try a half of a 3rd BCA (NB Bradley’s Finest Golden, now I remember) and it provides instant redemption, cool, clean and tasty (3.5).

Only you’ll know if you can be bothered playing the cask lottery or not.

As Mrs RM goes to retrieve her umbrella she sprays water all over the seat.

“DOH ! I put it in the dog bowl !“

Wisely, I say nothing.

By the by, those giant pencils by the school are, presumably, for the benefit of pub tickers who forgot to bring their own. So thoughtful.