retiredmartin

July 2024. Wooler.

Mrs RM retired to her four poster bed and spa bath at the Black Bull,

leaving me to get a second Wooler GBG tick in an hour 5 minutes away. How does Wooler go from zero Guide entries to two (2) overnight ?

Well, it’s their turn, I guess.

The Tankerville Arms is the type of remote “faded grandeur” hotel (£157.25/night) that almost never make the Guide, and the pumps are there for show, as it’s comforting for old folk to see them on the bar.

Perhaps one pump pubs are back in fashion. And hoorah for that.

Perhaps that lady with her head in her hands should have warned me, though.

I don’t know much about beer but I do know lack of turnover when I taste it (NBSS 2); the other half dozen folk (gentlefolk diners chatting Olly Watkins, business lady chatting IT, like Mrs RM does) were firmly sticking to wine and soda, while admiring the traditional air imbued by a hand pump with a puffin on it. The San Miguel glass didn’t help.

Nor the scatter cushion overkill.

I may have been irrationally grumpy as I’d handed over £2.40 for a £2.35 half and nothing came back. Those 5p pieces all add up !

Back at the Black Bull, the music and chat continued well past midnight. You’d not think it possible for 1,800 folk to make so much noise, but I guess rural farming communities hold their Friday night traditions dear.

The next morning Mrs RM slept on as I made a 7am assault on the town, starting with an incendiary black Americano at The Perfect Shot. Bakery/cafes open at 7am should be treasured.

“We Prefer CASH” their mantra, Haggis bombs a reminder how perilously close you are to the border.

Drizzle descended, a shop owner says “Another lovely Summer’s day !“. Lovely, cheery people in Wooler.

I made a feeble assault on the Cheviots, a mile uphill towards the gorgeous Common, where a red squirrel reminded me I hadn’t booked the £7.50 breakfast,

and strode back into town to the Perfect Shot to buy Mrs RM a bacon stottie.