retiredmartin

May 2026. Richmond. North Yorkshire.

Every fourth year Richmond gets a new Beer Guide pub demanding my attention, and every fourth year I leave a Yorkshire tiwn considered one of the country’s best wondering what the fuss is about.

This time, I have myself a whole two hours and asked ChatGPT for the essential sights.

“The falls,

the walk around the castle (if not in it),

and an amble in the market place.” says ChatGPT.

And I realise it’s the cobbled market place that’s the issue, the appeal dulled by a sea of gentlefolk’s cars.

I took a walk up the lanes away from the car park, and it started to make sense,

more so when I returned to join the queue for pork pies.

“A couple of warm ones please“.

“What flavour ?“

“Dunno, you got black pudding ?”

“No sorry“

“What flavour have you got ? I’ll have two of those, long as they’re warm“.

They were tremendous; one straight away by the church, the other an hour later at Boroughbridge. Sorry, Mrs RM, they’re no good cold.

But I did buy Mrs RM something she’d like,

a can of Brew Station imperial stout from their “station” brewery*.

Unbelievably, it’s still in the fridge.