retiredmartin

March 2026. Tuxford. Nottinghamshire.

Mr Protz wrote the definitive book about the pubs along the Great North Road, but there’s far less of them than you’d hope if you had to make the trek up and down the A1 weekly.

I took the sliproad to Tuxford (pop, now 2,809) as I fancied artisanal panini rather than Greggs pasty, and found it, again, a pleasant spot for a break.

In 2021 Retired Martin (that’s me) wrote the definitive lockdown post on the town, and it may have been the same biker as then who now accosted me under the attractive finger post with an “You OK mate ?“. Folk are very suspicious of old blokes taking photos of wrought iron.

So engrossed was I in our discussion about weird doors in Cromwell that my Nduja and cheese panini was getting cold at the Crusty Cob (the little bakery across from the church has long closed).

The CAMRA pubs website tells me Tuxford is pub-free, the impressive Newcastle Arms closed a quarter century and now an art gallery/Museum of the Horse.

The (keg) social club wishes Good Luck to all entering the ONION SHOW,

and the Fountain Hotel is the other side of the A1, and is (apparently) a pub strategically situated north of Millie Moo Dog Grooming.

Except it’s not. The Sun is Tuxford’s pub,

defiantly open all day (and beyond) in a world of 4pm Thr-Sun madness, drawing you in with classic pop.

Somehow the Sun has not only been misplaced on the map (I’ve let CAMRA know), it’s also avoided Untappd, quite an achievement when even Retford Aldi gets check-ins. I get a friendly welcome and comfy seating in a well-wethered pub with decent trades custom at lunchtime. You wouldn’t travel from Chicago to visit, but would you stop off on the A1 ?

There’s two unused handpumps; after I order Guinness I ask the chatty landlord if there’s any, y’know, cask beer (doing the international sign of the handpump). He sort of laughs, motions to his regulars and tells me “they’re all John Smiths drinkers here“, though I sense he wishes he could justify a Black Sheep or something.

Two rolls/cobs/baps on the bar,

one bloke singing “Barbara Ann“,

and, honestly, the best Guinness I’ve had in years, actually tasting of something.

Glad I stopped.