retiredmartin

July 2025. Darlington.

I’m about to analyse my whereabouts in July, and it may horrify Kentish Paul to learn I spent as many nights in a Co-op car park in Darlington as I did at home in Sheffield.

No sooner was I back from Waterbeach than heading out in the campervan to Cockerton library, where I may soon be liable to pay council tax.

Let’s (finally) finish Durham, shall we ?

Oh good, a fabulous bar.

Actually quite a lively place. I’d phoned up on Sunday night and been unable to confirm opening times over the power pop of Jordan Bailey.

Vesuvio rhymes with Sussudio, and by great coincidence I enter to the sound of Phil Collins (RIP), albeit on “Misunderstanding”.

A quirky place with a focus on fine wine (Sussex, top) and cocktails, and a cask range that challenges you to go for the weird one before sense prevails.

Black Sheep isn’t quite as ubiquitous and consistent as it once was, but still a decent cool pint (NBSS 3+) that justified its GBG place.

One other punter at the bar is sampling whisk(e)y. As I tell the Guvnor he can have card or cash, as he prefers, the chap starts counting his coins to help, and offers me 12 pence.

If he thinks I was going to do a bank transfer for 12 pence, he was mistaken.