
April 2026. Skipton.

Still in Skipton last Sunday, we explored the little strip of shops between the High Street and Sheep Street with entrances off both.
“Yorkies” looks like a dolls house, but it’s actually a chippy (small fish and chips only £7 !);

the third building is Hustle, a cute little bar I was about to walk past on the way to the “proper” pubs by the marina.

“Oh, go in !” says Mrs RM, who really is incorrigible. Whatever incorrigible means.
Sometimes it’s best do as you’re told, I think it’s called the “Submissive husbands movement“.
Quirky little place, blues at a good volume,

and art that got my first post censored by Blue Sky this morning,

and banter at the bar,

and Craven cask.

And a dog that didn’t, for once, lick Mrs RM.

The Session Pale was OK, Hoppy Heiffer very good, but I doubt you’re coming here for the real ale.

You’re coming for the hustle.
You or your regular readers may know this, but was that Hustle previously called something like the in and out bar, due to having two doors ??
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You.Are.A.Winner ! It was Two Doors Inn.
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Stop wasting those units! You only get 19.
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Unless you’re BRAPA. He’s using his age 67-80 units now, it’s like cashing in some of your pension early.
Can Americans cash in their 401 early, or has Trump taken them all to finance the ballroom ?
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He’s taking our children’s 401ks to fund the ballroom. We paid for the arch.
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Van McCoy’s finest is now living rent-free in my head. Cheers, RM. It’s going to take all of The Clash’s first album to shift that.
Even at the time, I resented songs exhorting me to “Do the this, that or the other”. Why the hell should I, I thought. Luckily, punk rescued us from all that nonsense. (Honourable exception: Do The Strand. Goodness knows what that was all about.)
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Everyone should do The Low Yo-Yo, surely, Bill?
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Not my favourite captain I’m afraid. Captain Sensible for me.
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Tsk. Kids yesterday…
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