retiredmartin

August 2025. Stratford-upon-Avon.

Mrs RM is in the MAD museum next to Shakey’s birthplace when I call her to suggest a half in The Garrick, “potentially” one of Stratford’s oldest pubs.

“It’s 4 minutes walk, round the corner in the High Street. You can’t miss it“.

Oh yes she can.

To be fair, I could have walked past the Garrick, pleasingly unencumbered by Greene King tat, too.

Their IPA may be dull, their seasonals questionable, but Greene King seem to run pubs better than they did a few years ago.

The Garrick‘s collection of “beers that sound like they’re brewed here” and Abbot isn’t great, but the staff are really cheerful and I grab a table under the Bard awaiting Mrs RM’s presence.

Yes, I definitely got the best table, and feel self-conscious as my wait with a half and a (free) soda water stretches from 4 minutes to 14 and on.

Mrs RM calls.

“I know you said to meet at the Dolphin but I can’t find a Dolphin“.

“I sent you a map !“. Men, never send a woman a map; it’s passive aggressive.

No-one asks if I’m dining, the barman says “Good choice“, possibly because I’m the only non-ditherer as the bar fills with American accents, and I declare the Abbot a 4.

Which is good, as the Garrick is the other GBG entry, after the micropub. Those CAMRA folk may be an argumentative lot, but they tend to pick the right pubs for the Guide, you know.