retiredmartin

January 2026. Hastings.

A third pub on All Saints Street in an hour, and a second Heritage entry in quick succession at the Stag.

We left the Cinque Ports just as dusk was about to weave its magic.

I reckon a real architectural enthusiast could spend a good hour in this quarter mile stretch. Virtually every building must be listed.

But it’s pubs you’re here for,

and the Stag gives you a real sense of optimism that this might just be a Shepherd Neame pub worth popping in.

10/10 for the literal pub sign with extra foliage.

It’s an umparket Sheps, though at 4pm the food trade has eased off and you’re left with an upmarket drinking house with crackling fire and modern soul soundtrack.

OK, Pub Curmudgeon might have had something to say about the scatter cushions, but it’s not as bad as the Robinson’s diner in Poynton.

Warm and cosy, quaint and quirky (mummified cat out of picture),

and what would have been another NBSS 4 for the Bishops Finger.

It would, but the glass had just come out of a dishwasher and I couldn’t quite away from the feeling that a rich, chewy beer was being held back by a warm glass. Elsewhere, Mrs RM’s low/no experiment had hit the buffers and it was diet coke.

BUT…I’m giving it the benefit of doubt.

Just before we got up to go, it turned magical as little groups started coming in and doing what people do in pubs, things they could never do at home or in Starbucks or Pizza Express. Impossible to explain (hey ! 3 pints in 45 minutes) but you know pub magic when you see it.