August 2024. Beaulieu.
The in-laws said “We’d like to go to Beaulieu“, and my favourite thing in the world after travel, weird America songstresses and Chinese takeaways are folk who say what they want.
Oooh, Texas on the blog AGAIN.
The well-trodden A21/M25/M3 to Southampton and beyond is a bit of a slog, particularly the rumble strips on the motorway near Leatherhead,
but having left T’Wells at 8am and stopped only at Hythe Tesco for picnic supplies, and slowed down to admire the ponies at the entrance to the New Forest, I’d parked up at the Motor Museum by 10:30.
Beaulieu (pronounced “Be-oo-leeugh”) is much more than old cars, there was a falconry display in the Abbey ruins and some impressive gardens to explore as well,
but the petrol heads come to admire the F1 display, the Top Gear highlights, and to display their Fiesta Pop Plus on the showground.
I am not a petrol head, but we’d brought our lads here a dozen years ago to laugh at the caravans that Clarkson, May and Hammond crashed.
It’s an impressive, immersive display,
a reminder of the Dinky toys of your youth,
(if I’d kept that Chitty Chitty car I had at 5 I could have retired early),
and a section on road maps I found oddly more fascinating than the women in our group did.
Mrs RM used to drive a car like this one;
I aspire to the Peppa Pig Porsche.
Michael (86) started to wilt 3 hours in, but your ticket last a year so you can come back any time, and we headed to our deluxe accommodation via Hythe,
a workaday town of 20,000,
though you wouldn’t believe that strolling the tiny central area packed with ice cream kiosks,
struggling to find the new GBG entry because there’s no internet.
Margaret and Michael must wonder why I only take them in modern shop conversions with uncomfortable seating and weird craft rather than ancient inns with ponies outside,
but they obediently queued with Mrs RM to choose their Mad Squirrel lager and oddly unlabelled “cider”.
Sadly, the cask wasn’t moving, there were more staff than punters on a Sunday afternoon, but Michael loved his pint of cider and the staff were SO cheery and welcoming to a group of old folk I can forgive them some tired cask.
And as Mrs RM shared a half of Yonder’s Imperial Stout that was so good I wondered why these modern beer placed dotted round Southampton don’t ditch real ale altogether.
retiredmartin 
That Dusty Barrel reminds me of hearing there’s a Rusty Barrel in Rugeley.
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Yes, I was trying to give Christine the name so she could direct me and came up with “it’s the Rusty Bucket, or Mucky Duck, or Dusty Door, something like that”.
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But did you get there ?
And if so was it unknown beers, random furniture, unisex toilet and limited opening hours as the name implies ?
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“and a section on road maps I found oddly more fascinating than the women in our group”
I suggest that you put a “did” at the end of that phrase, Martin
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I was right the first time…
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Etu,
I properly understood Martin’s comment.
As a respectable married man he’s not interested in women in the plural.
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Enough of the “respectable”. I’m not in Penkridge now.
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“Mrs”. E and I got married three weeks ago, Paul. As to whether that makes us respectable is probably best for others to judge.
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Congratulations! 🎉
Kept that quiet. Wondered why you’d been off the comments for a day.
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Thanks Martin.
Three days though, three days.
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It was three WEEKS a minute ago. Are you saying 3 days feels like 3 weeks?!
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Congratulations.
Reception in a proper pub and honeymoon in a GBG pub like Mrs SP and I perhaps ?
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“I’m not in Penkridge now” but wish you were ?
I might walk there again quite soon.
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Let me know and I’ll join you if I can.
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Yes, I will, maybe short notice though.
I passed through it on the A449 an hour ago on the way home from my top two Wolverhampton pubs.
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Do you mean my sort of short notice where I tell you when I’m already there ?
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Yes Martin, though I usually go to Penkridge at very short notice.
I passed through on the A449 this afternoon on the way home from my top two wolverhampton pubs.
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Yes, something like that.
And I don’t know why I’m suddenly an “Anonymous” though I might get used to it.
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Well, Paul, we did get to The Nellie Dean Of Soho on the way to the reception.
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Etu, We decided to get married 32 years ago as it could all be done with change out of £100 then, no sense in waiting until we’re old and on pensions we thought. I remember Hansons beer on metered electric pumps at the reception as my first pints as a married man.
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Blimey that North/South divide again, Paul.
We got married the same year as you and the marriage licence (at our own church) cost £95, the reception £250, the photographs £250 and the honeymoon £229. Mrs RM made her own wedding dress and a friend made the cake.
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Well I think there was change out of £100.
Mrs SP also made her own wedding dress.
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It was Sussex Best for me this time round.
Mrs. E altered her dress. Does that count?
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Etu,
We decided against going down towards Sussex with a reception in Dudley and honeymoon in Robin Hoods Bay !
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Did you meet Mr Hood ?
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No, nor Little John during the seven nights from 1983 to 2019 I’ve stayed in Hathersage.
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