retiredmartin

Sounds like a King Crimson track, doesn’t it ?

August 2024. Salisbury.

We’re just back from our annual venture into Cranborne Chase for weird music in posh gardens and NO WI-FI.

A near five hours slog due south from Sheffield, with time for a lone Wiltshire Guide tick (my first and last of the GBG year) in the posh villages below Salisbury,

a city so renowned for its 404 foot church spire that many foreign day trippers return the next day.

They’d love the Yew Tree in Odstock, a new entry with the best floral displays I’ve seen outside the Duke of Cumberland in Henley (West Sussex).

I know at least one (1) of my readers enjoys finials on thatched buildings so here for Dave is a close-up of the chickens on the roof.

Nice sign too, though oddly positioned.

Mrs RM and James take an outdoor table and use (almost) their last internet for 4 days while I’m dispatched under the timbers (1650 and all that) for the beer.

Last year’s pre-festival halt at Longparish led to disaster of dystopian dimensions as I left my GBG behind, and the lone cask pump (excellent Black Sheep) wasn’t enough to secure a second year in the Guide.

It seems to be a theme; just the Razor Back (£5.50) in the Yew Tree. And folk tell you the GBG is all about the number of “wickets” (ugh).

Don’t they look great though ?

In a pub almost exclusively for diners (I was asked if I wanted a receipt, twice), there’s enough retired colonels and stockbrokers to keep a lone pump ticking, and this was vindication of my long-held belief that ALL* beers are capable of greatness in the hands of a capable publican.

Cool, rich, chewy, scummy head, NBSS 3.5/4.

After just one sip of that Boring Brown Bitter, James agreed to sign up to CAMRA to fight the curse of craft keg (boo !).

Mrs RM went off to take pics for her Instagram reel.

A minor commotion ensued, Mrs RM interrogated as to whether she was taking a photo of a lady below the thatch. “No, I’m taking a pic of the pub“, I hear.

“But am I collateral damage ?” may be the unexpected pub line of the month.

I took the glasses back to the bar, an unexpected soundtrack starting up.

The sign on the door was, however, as inevitable as the debate over who would have the honour of settling the bill in full flow on the big table.

A lovely pub.

*Some exception apply, notably in the Cotswolds