December 2025. Cambridge.
I may have been happy to spend 25th December back in Sheffield reheating Chinese takeaways and eating crisps in the Blake with Will, but “society” insists I follow certain protocols. More to the point, our two lads wanted to see their grandparents at Christmas. Someone brought them up OK.
James drove Matt down from Sheffield on Christmas Eve morning, a test of nerve that required a pint or two that afternoon.
In honesty I’m a bit bored of Cambridge pubs by now, but both lads have hardly been to town since leaving home, and it was time to show off the “new” Kingston Arms.
No Bass, Mark the Guvnor explains “supply issues”, but the boys seem as happy with White Rat as I am with Batemans Mild and Mrs RM with her Tally Ho.
I do hope my lads drinking cask isn’t performative for my benefit, like their willingly going to the Christmas morning Sally Army service or supporting Manchester City.
My observation, and this blog is all about observation, is that these two young people are largely indifferent to what they drink, as long as it’s cold.
In the Cambridge Blue, where I took them as toddlers, they again have the real ale, though since I’d despatched Mrs RM to the bar (and she was confused by cask and cider clips being on the same pump) it could have been anything.
Both the Kingston and the Blue are buzzing at 5pm, pubs carrying out the same social functions they have since, well, whenever.
In this case, providing a chance for a mother to press her adult children for information on life and other stuff. The boys are staying mum.
We decide to eat back in Waterbeach, so there’s just enough time for a third pint in the Devonshire.
“Ooh, they’ve got Marcus” says Mrs RM. I caution that a half is wise,
and for the first time since 1992 she takes my advice. How do you think I scored the Pegasus (above) though ?
James and Matthew have really taken to the Nepalese curries at the White Horse,
and if I could have had that as a takeaway for my lunch the next two days I’d have been delighted.
retiredmartin 