
July 2025. Northallerton.

The campervan , Triple fff Moonshine portable toilet and all, has been getting some proper usage this summer, taking us to small town car parks which don’t yet have “NO OVERNIGHT PARKING ON PAIN OF DEATH” signage.
And you really need a night in North Yorkshire towns like Northallerton, with its legally prescribed “one new GBG entry every year, and make it the last one you’d expect“.

While I wait for the Masons to follow the Fleece into the Guide (guess which cutting-edge beer it sells), I have a sixth (at a guess) attempt to get to the heart of Rishi Sunak’s constituency.

But first, breakfast in Spoons,

the newish Buck possibly disqualifying itself from pre-emptive GBG status with its “Blondes at the Buck” micro-sexism.

Elsewhere you’ll learn all you’d ever forgotten about Sidney Weighell (top), but by far the most most interesting thing here is in the Gents;

but can you spot it ?
Even with 3 refills at the coffee machine and loo drama you can’t spend more than 28 minutes in a Spoons, unless you’re a student leeching their Wi-Fi, and I decided I’d just walk aimlessly for 2 hours.

Inevitably, that means a brush with Yorky flags,

and a post box to heaven at the gates to the cemetery.

Nice cemetery, mind.

Back in the land of the living All Saints edges a NCSS 3.5 due to that ceiling,

and some classy glass.

The aimless walk takes me a mile east to Romanby, which has made a cracking effort at promoting its modest charms. I appreciate a good, modest effort.

Back in town, past the North Yorkshire council colossus that I assume accounts for recent population growth, the town hall splits up the two main streets, and I note “like a poor man’s Skipton“. But then remember that Skipton is a wee bit overrated. Except for the pork pies.

What does impress me is the cultural development to the east, which might not quite match Everyman in Liverpool but is certainly classy.

But it’s pubs you want, and mine is just about to open…
Are you referring to what looks like a sanitary bin in the gents toilet. There has been a campaign for their provision.
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Good try, Jon, but it’s much more obvious than that.
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If it’s not the sani-bin, it must be the pink porcelain.
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Nope.
Mrs RM got it immediately. I’ve never seen it before in my life.
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Is that it?
One sit down and a locking cupboard?
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Scarily, that door behind the seat is NOT a cupboard, it’s a door to a narrow passage running behind the loos.
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It gets worse. Did you find out where it led?
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Even worse. I could here someone walking along the little walkway with door access to my cubicle from behind!
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Is the door for the new Wetherspoon toilet attendant service?
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🙂
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On first viewing the cubicle door looks like it is swung fully open but going back for a thorough second look I see it is closed shut but with no latch to lock it.
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You’re getting warm, but missing the obvious.
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You mention Skipton being overrated, but I was there last Saturday and had a glorious session. The Beer Engine was receiving some sort of award from Keighley Craven CAMRA. I had just settled down with a pint of Oakham Citra when the barman ran out said that he thought the barrel was nearly empty and the pints weren’t of the standard we should expect. He took away the offending pint and returned with a similar pint from a different tap.
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I was being a bit cheeky (who, me ?), Robin, and it really reflects on a town that’s a bit too popular for its own good ! (a bit like Southwold in some senses). Like a lot of Yorkshire market towns with car parks that scar the main square (see : Thirsk).
You’re right about the pubs, though I haven’t visited for a while.
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I get what you mean about being too popular for its own good. The Beer Engine was rammed and then we got to the Boathouse. The Wishbone Tiller Pin was superb, but issue was that there must have been over 100 people drinking at the pub, with punters spilling onto the canal towpath outside and all along the banks to the bridge by the statue to Fred Truman.
And you don’t have to tell me about Yorkshire towns ruined by central car parks, remember I live in Ilkley.
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