retiredmartin

July 2025. Alton. Hampshire.

Last time in Alton I’d shown the in-laws the parish church, admired the simplicity of the Eight Bells,

but declared the Railway Arms the town’s essential stop.

Well, that was wrong, as the Eight Bells is clearly your reason to divert from Jane Austen’s birthplace.

But time your visit, as this classic free house, run by the same Old School landlord for decades, keeps Old School 12-2, 5-11 hours.

Good job local codger Mick aka Citra had planned this crawl survey so meticulously, though as mourners crossed the road from St Lawrence I wondered about a “Closed for wake” sign.

But it was just a snatched half for the funeral party, and a leisurely pint of Perridge Pale from (Flower)pots (3.5) for the professional drinkers.

If anything the Eight Bells was even more traditional than I recall from my visit 2 decades ago, Unspoilt by Progress you might say.

Yes, that’s Oxon Nick with the t-shirt of the day.

Nick was one of (I think) a dozen cheery folk that day, and  if I can’t recall a word said then that sounds like a good session.

Never take notes on a Proper Day Out.