October 2026. West Tarring. Worthing.
The lack of young, female pub tickers is a matter of concern in our society, but then women aren’t generally as fascinated by maps in the same way as blokes, having been forced to read cookery books rather than OS maps in school.
Many has been the hour Si and I will have pored over the plan of Worthing, deciding the best way to break journeys in Angmering and still catch the last train to Littlehampton, or drilling down to see whether East Preston is actually a real place (not sure).
Or deciding which novel to read while waiting to cross the level crossings at West Worthing;
Moby Dick or A Suitable Boy are doable, I reckon.
A fourth GBG pint in two hours awaits as I leave the Foresters for a mile walk to Tarring, which reminds me of a Pett Wood with palm trees, all comfortable and cosy if a bit lot dull.
Lots of flint stone houses, the street is actually called Flint Stones;
sadly the ancient fig gardens leaves the disappointing opening times to the foot of the sign.
“Open one day a year ? That’s still better than some micros” he chunters on.
Worthing doesn’t seem to have really posh and really grubby bits, which in my part of Sheffield can seem a good thing, but here just means everything is a bit average,
The exteriors on this main street of Tarring are the highlight, almost Old Eastbourne like,
but once inside the George & Dragon is proving “Unimproved” is a multi-faceted word. Unspoilt red velvet furniture, simple pub meals for gentlefolk, darts and Genesis (“Misunderstanding“). I can’t escape Phil Collins today and, frankly, who would want to ?
Simon sums it up well in his post from last year, when it all seemed a bit dour on his birthday, no less.
The Harvey’s starts great (4) and ends up with that cold tea tinge you get with underperforming Pride, averaging out to a 3.
I put my pint down on the table and make an involuntary move backwards with my (left) leg that almost sends the Old Boy (a postman, he says) flying. I over-apologise in the Gents, it’s Pint 4 talking, he says it’s fine but there’s a slightly cold atmosphere.
But I can’t dislike the pub, a proper allrounder and one of few in Worthing that would gain Stafford Paul’s favour.
Great soundtrack,
and that Watney’s red bar back of similar vintage to Smokie.
But when the conversation at that bar comes round to how Manchester City’s only acceptable punishment for their crime of investing in football is to be wound up and their players made to play for Worthing in the National League (I made that up but you get the picture) it’s time to race for the train.
