retiredmartin

March 2025. Owston Ferry. Doncaster (apparently).

Another day, another excursion into the flatlands of the east, this time to the mysterious Isle of Axholme.

Is it really an isle ? Does anyone care ? If you do, go there now and check for yourself.

Owston Ferry is one of those quaint west bank villages that gaze longingly over the river at the treasures to the east (well, a pint of Theakston in Scotter), campaigning for a return of the coracle that once ploughed across the Trent all day long.

Last time in Owz, as the locals don’t call it, I nearly went in the White Hart by mistake, before realising that the identically located Crooked Billet was the newbie. Should have done it in 2018,

but it’s nice to be back. Two other solo drinkers (“weirdos” says the Daily Mail) and a dad with his young lad, who’s on his way to Beavers.

I only see the one pump (is plenty),

with the Abbot hidden round the corner, Why else would you pick the Dr Seuss themed beer ?

It’s an Old Skool pub, three rooms and loads of photos from an era when Owston Ferry were a big name on the international Tug of War (TOW) scene,

before VAR came in and ruined EVERYTHING.

Video replays have long ruined the noble sport of horseracing, which was dominating the screens this afternoon.

The landlord’s bet fell 2 hurdles from home,

“Ooh, he’s gone !!!”

allowing Golden Ace to romp home at 25/1.

“I could have had it” repeated the landlord, folorn.

“Let it go” said the Dad.

“Let it go mate” said I, returning my glass.