retiredmartin

July 2024. Bamburgh.

Like the night “Red” endures when Andy escapes via Raquel, I spent a tortured night in Wooler wondering about my next tick.

The Castle Inn, Bamburgh ?

What Pub has no record it, though there’s a Bamburgh Castle in Seahouses, and I’m worried I’m looking at a GBG cock-up.

Well, not really, my days of worrying about the Beer Guide are behind me, and by studious detective work (comparing phone numbers and postcodes) I deduce that the Castle Hotel (top) is more commonly known as the Middle Inn. Well why not call it that, then !

It’s not open till 11:30, giving us half an hour to lust after cakes,

and make a pathetic attempt to invade Bamburgh Castle, one of the giants of the Northumbrian coast.

We needn’t have rushed. In recognition of the grim weather sweeping in, the Castle/Middle decided to keep their doors firmly shut till noon,

at which point I was met by a greeter ushering me into the more pubby right-hand room.

I headed left, and sent Mrs RM, searching out a loo over the road, a clear message. “Turn Left. Left !”.

First at the bar, I confidently ask for a half of Bamburgh IPA,

and am presented with an NBSS 3 half of Alnwick Amber (Mrs RM says “tastes like Bass“, she’s right). Do I care ?

Mrs RM enters, turns right, and I rush to retrieve her from the dining room. “I KNOW the difference between left and right it depends which way you’re facing” she says, not unreasonably (I think).

For 2 minutes, we have a decent if chintzy dining room to ourselves,

though a quick look at the sharing boards confirms this isn’t a pub for us,

it’s for the southerners who flock to Northumberland the way they do Burnham or Holkham.

And by southerners, I don’t mean Blyth and Newbiggin.