August 2026. Bristol.
It’s been a while, but I finally managed a trip outside that brutal Manchester-Midlands-Cambridge-Kent corridor last weekend.
A choice of routes down to Bath, and the one stopping at Oxford would have been ideal except the pub there didn’t open till 2pm and I needed to be at the Star for 4.
So, Brizzle it is,
atonishingly a first visit in three and a first half years.
And sure enough, I don’t recall the jolly green giant at Temple Meads at all.
What’s really odd is that three more new Beer Guides since that visit only equate to two new GBG entries, neither of them a brewery tap.
It’s 12:40, I need to be back to catch the 15:00 to Bath or face that 4 pint jug of Bass being drained. Google sets out the challenge ahead.
5.9 miles uphill in a heatwave, too. I reckon that timing gives me exactly three (3) minutes to drink a couple of pints and take photos on the way. No problem.
First things first; Bristol looks gorgeous in the sunshine.
It always does, but the Bristol Balloon Festival (which passed me by completely) has brought in the families, though probably not to the Myrtle Tree and the Bag of Nails.
A couple of dozen visits to the suburbs over the years, and I still don’t feel I really know Bristol that well, but Clifton is stately and smart and full of people who seem to be drinking rather than working on a Friday lunchtime (says he).
Wickwar’s Royal Oak isn’t the most striking pub on the Mall,
a narrow, three level place whose Google reviews suggest it’s more foodie than it seems today (the lady who will ask for a taster orders a bowl of chips).
Forgetting it’s Wickwar I opt for New Bristol at the bar,
and even more than the first cool, crisp, sip (VERY GOOD) it’s the friendliness of the welcome that you notice, the landlord recalling the “Summer of ’76” as all Brits are legally obliged to do even if they weren’t even born.
Boak and Bailey just wrote about good staff in Bristol pubs, and here was the welcome, the genuine enquiry, the time to chat. He gives equal time to a Japanese tourist and a lady who wants that taster of BOB, agreeing that yes, the price of Guinness is hard to believe these days !
With a rare soul soundtrack, it’s a pleasant place for a quick pint,
and if it was your first experience of “English pub” you’d think it’s not as scary to negotiate as all those Instagram videos make out.
retiredmartin 
Have often wondered whether in 1976, there were people still around who remembered the 1911 heatwave and made a point of stating how much hotter that was.
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I was twenty-two at the time and it was nothing like as hot, long, or all-round terrible as the last three-and-a-half months have been. It didn’t even start until past mid-June, and there was a bit of thundery rain now-and-then too, Komakino.
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*in 1976, not 1911, that is.
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The Royal Oak’s changed a lot over the years. Didn’t recognise it from the outside at first. It used to be the only “normal” pub in Clifton before closing for a few years, then re-opening as a wine bar and finally being rescued from this ugly fate by Wickwar.
Your map suggests visits to the Oak, the Port of Call and the Highbury. You don’t want to know this now, but the whole thing can be done by getting the number 8 bus from Temple Meads (stops 5 minutes walk from the Oak and Port and goes past the Highbury before taking you back to Temple Meads again.) Unless they’ve faffed about with the route/timetable. Again.
The summer of ’76 is indeed a compulsory reference in these drought-ridden times. Especially if you remember it. I saw England get bowled out for 71 by the West Indies at Old Trafford that year.
People in Clifton drink rather than work every day. That’s what living in Clifton is all about.
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