retiredmartin

July 2025. Waterbeach.

Being all heart, I’d offered to pick Mrs RM up on her return from Nantes that Saturday evening.

Being French and all, that flight decided not to arrive at Stansted till gone 10pm, wrecking my thoughts of a pint in the Sun.

But then our lads arrived home from watching Neil, Cat and Van (combined age – older than America) at Hyde Park, and set off to the pub as I left for the airport.

While waiting for touchdown in the unofficial short stay car park at Stortford Services I hatched a plan.

“Hey lads, get the pints in before Helen calls last orders at 11:15 will you ?’.

Well, they didn’t quite do that, but they did ask our favourite landlady to let us in as the bell (metaphorically) rang.

A lovely family catch-up, in which we laugh at our children’s terrible taste in music and vice versa.

And after taking Dad to hear the Salvation Army band in the morning, a family curry at the White Horse.

where all but DES enjoys some immaculate looking Landlord,

and equally good Nepalese goat curry.

It needs, and deserves, a bit more trade.

The bee went for my ginger beer, rather than the Tim Taylor. What can it mean ?