retiredmartin

April 2026. Staithes. North Yorkshire.

I took this picture of Staithes High Street on a dreich day in 2017, when we oddly walked past the Royal George, oblivious to its GBG pre-emptive potential.

And this one last Thursday.

You get a better picture of the cobbles in the first one, so I’ll keep that in. Nothing much has changed in Staithes, and, I suspect, in the Royal George.

Cash is still king,

gentlefolk still dominate the lunchtime trade (the Helly Hansen crowd were outside the Cod & Lobster),

and there’s none of those micro beers (Helmsley Brewing down the lane) to interrupt the Theakston dominance.

30 years ago Theakston was everywhere, now it’ Landlord and Theakston rarely gets a look in outside the Dales. This was a superb pint, beautifully presented, cool and chewy, NBSS 4 in old money.

It’s not a classic interior, open and sprawling, but pleasant and unfussy and with a soundtrack wildly veering between 1983 (Matthew Wilder “Break My Stride“) and 1984 (Elton’s “I’m Still Standing“).

I always assume fish and chips will taste best in a cosy Yorkshire coastal pub,

but here the batter felt a tiny bit overcooked (though not quite Radcliffe). Nothing four (4) sachets of mayonnaise can’t sort out, mind.

Just for Will, a reminder that cheap beer is still available on the edge of Staithes…

Sadly the John Smiths is keg.