September 2026. Duston. Northampton.
You left me in the Squirrels in Duston, having volunteered to leave the pub (kitchen closed by 8) in search of food for James, Matt and Emma. And they thought Oates was a hero in 1912.
Five steps across the road lies the quaintly named “Duston Village Chippy“, whose stock is clearly running low at half-past eight;
A cone of chips and a large sausage to keep our Gang of Four going till Popeyes, then.
Ooh, look, it’s an award winning chippy.
And rightly so, fantastic chips.
I wave that steaming tray in the bay window of the Squirrels, noting too late that I could have saved 50p on our pints of Greene King IPA with our Spoons vouchers.
Not sure we’d have managed the other Duston pub without that handful of chips and bite of sausage,
but it would have been sad to miss the Melbourne Arms, a “Proper Pub” said one of our group.
I don’t see as much Greene King as you might think, but here Abbot follows IPA, and a VERY GOOD pint it is (Tim Taylor Blonde also good),
in a pub that seems to have lost the skittle alley that (The Real) Mark found a decade ago, but it does retain a sense of humour.
Sorry, not on official pub recording duty that night, but the Gents is a treasure trove of local tat,
and a giant TV screen which entertained us with weather forecasts for Cranborne Chase. Possibly.
retiredmartin 