retiredmartin

July 2025. Darlington.

A Monday night in a quiet Durham market town, before a Big Trip (Proper) North at 6am the next morning.

Time to prove the old adage that England’s architectural glories lie above eye level.

Lots of detail to admire, including the memorial to anti-slavery campaigner Joseph Pease.

Darlo had looked very quiet, but then suddenly at 6pm the market place filled with “fun” runners.

When I was a lad there were Hash House Harriers who treated running as something to break up the monotony between pubs, but these days the pubs seem to be completely off the agenda.

Mrs RM picked the ORB micro for our last pub of the night, a bar that looked more alluring in the dark in 2019 than in the light tonight.

It’s ticking over tonight, and there’s good chat at the bar but there’s also a canine presence which encourages Mrs RM to hide at the back, waiting for her pint of Pagan Queen.

The Turning Point is a fine pint of murk (NBSS 3.5),

the Lorimer & Clark hand pumps are a nice bit of tat,

and there’s even a bit of Chappell Roan on the wall.

But, despite all these attractions, the fun runners all race past.

Just when did “fun” become such a devalued term ?