retiredmartin

March 2025. Cambridge.

Finding tea in a pub on Sunday night gets harder by the year, even in tourist Cambridge.

A bit of a surprise to find grub on Gwydir Street, whose residents typically retire to bed at dusk with an improving text from the outdoor library,

probably that one by Danish philosopher Peter Schmeichel.

This part of Cambridge is a hotbed of culture, from Yanis,

to Yoga.

The Cambridge Blue suits its locale perfectly,

cosy seating, conservatory and garden for the offspring, exciting beer and cider range.

Oh, and teddies. And taps, if I’m not mistaken.

Less said about Whitbread, the better. Actually, someone should resurrect cask Trophy Bitter.

Cask never lets you down at the Blue, this stout was a cool 3.5.

Mrs RM is still on her way from the Travelodge, so I set out to get her the strongest crafty keg.

And order a tray of chicken burger and fries from the in-house Gorilla and Lamb.

Free houses often struggle to maintain in-house kitchens (see : the Fat Cat), so getting someone to come in and takeover your food seems a good idea, especially simple menus like the Blue’s.

Perhaps I was swayed by 2-for-1, but this was mucky heaven.

We’re all set to go when Mrs RM’s favourite track comes on just as the Blue starts to get busy.

Billy gives way to Duran Duran, a bloke mansplains the FA Cup to his date, a lady does the “Staying Alive” shuffle (don’t ask), and Mrs RM shuffles glides to the bar for a pint of 6.5% Verdant IPA.

“A pint ?” asks the barman. Mrs RM possibly glowered.

In truth, all the women in the Blue are drinking pints. Unless they’re drinking Duchesse de Bourgogne from the fridge.

It’s magic. But then, Flashdance (What A Feeling) stops, suddenly. It’s our cue to go.