retiredmartin

April 2024. St Albans.

I’d parked up for the night in the Verulamium, the ghosts of Roman Centurions all around, warning me my new GBG tick was 52 minutes walk, and suddenly a half of Citra in a social club on the other side of St Albans didn’t appeal to Mrs RM.

You go to the Spoons and I’ll meet you there, waving in completely the wrong direction for the Waterend Barn.

And her battery was running low, too. We’ve had mobile phones for, what, 500 years and the batteries are worse than ever. But someone would point her towards the Wetherspoons, surely ?

I got a sprint on, whizzing past the Robin Hood and the Horn and realising that despite working down the road and visiting most years I could still get vaguely lost in St Albans.

Which I like a lot.

Half an later I was outside the Royston. Perhaps I was in Royston town ?

I had that slight panic you get when you realise it’s a club and you might ask to inspect your CAMRA card but they never do, do they.

I pressed the wrong button, but eventually a lady answered the buzzer and said,

“You here for the darts ?” asks a lady carrying a steaming tray of sausage rolls.

Don’t you have to be overweight and drink pints of beer to be a darts player ?

They were showing the Champions League of darts on the big screen.

That’s the one where 17 year old Luke Littler beats the rest of the top players by hitting an improbable 213 checkout.

They love Luke in the Royston, swearing like they’re at “The Bodyguard” at Hemel Apollo or something.

It’s great, and I have to keep out their line of sight perched near the mobility scooter with a pint of Citra.

A very, very unlikely GBG entry that BRAPA will love.

Next door, all is silent as the brave Hammers keep Leverkusen to a mere 33 shots.

Someone should do a blog about Leverkusen, you know.