March 2025. Loughborough. The best thing about Wetherspoons is that they’ll sell you beer from 9am. The worst thing is that drinking from 9am isn’t always a good idea, unless you’re Paul Mudge. Still, Quinno reckoned a pint with breakfast was the way to go, and a packed Amber Rooms suggested it’s a common view.… Continue reading THE DREGS OF THE WETHERSPOONS BEER FESTIVAL
WHY LOUGHBOROUGH ?
March 2025. Loughborough. “You gone ? Where you off to ?” texts Mrs RM, waking up to a cold cup of coffee and sourdough with marmite an hour after I’d left for the tram. “Lutterworth. Meeting Quinno. I did tell you“. I probably didn’t tell her, but she wouldn’t have come anyway, knowing she’d “only… Continue reading WHY LOUGHBOROUGH ?
NADIA REID AND CASK UNDER £4 AT THE BRUDENELL
March 2025. Leeds. Picking a gig in Leeds on the same night as Millwall turned up at Elland Road was careless, but it was my best chance to see folkie Kiwi-turned-Manc Nadia Reid, and the Brudenell is my favoured venue in the whole world. So I drove, and Mrs RM came too, attracted by a… Continue reading NADIA REID AND CASK UNDER £4 AT THE BRUDENELL
“Let it go mate”. Cheltenham betting trauma in Owston Ferry.
March 2025. Owston Ferry. Doncaster (apparently). Another day, another excursion into the flatlands of the east, this time to the mysterious Isle of Axholme. Is it really an isle ? Does anyone care ? If you do, go there now and check for yourself. Owston Ferry is one of those quaint west bank villages that… Continue reading “Let it go mate”. Cheltenham betting trauma in Owston Ferry.
“Living Next Door To Alice”. “Alice?”
March 2025. Marton. Lincolnshire. Right, some inroads made into East Yorkshire, time to head back to tricky Lincolnshire, perhaps BRAPA’s favourite county. Marton, which keeps autocorrecting to the more famous “Martin” (there’s one of those south of Lincoln) feels tiny, because it is. 747 souls straggled along the A156, with a wobbly church, a post… Continue reading “Living Next Door To Alice”. “Alice?”
ANOTHER SUNDAY NIGHT IN WATERBEACH
March 2025. Waterbeach. I’m getting down to see Dad in his care home three times a week, and the most striking thing is his weight loss now he gets a balanced diet. It does mean a few trips back and forth to Tesco with trousers that are still too small, but that’s OK, and being… Continue reading ANOTHER SUNDAY NIGHT IN WATERBEACH
IT’S NOT YOU, IT’S US, HOWDEN
March 2025. Howden. I probably wouldn’t have dragged Mrs RM for a night out in Greater Goole if not for the new GBG entry in Howden, but it always felt like it would get a Guide pub. Eventually. Cobbled streets packed with bistros, Italian restaurants and craft bars, providing an unexpected bounty of Untappd potential… Continue reading IT’S NOT YOU, IT’S US, HOWDEN
10% IMPERIAL JAKEHEAD IN HOWDEN’S HOP CAVERN
March 2025. Howden. It wasn’t yet 2:30 and we’d already exhausted Howden’s possibilities, from church, to cinema (closed). The market place offie sounded tempting, but instead of drinking tins of Boddington in the park we chose to drink cans of Wylam in the craft bar. A craft bar that What Pub doesn’t acknowledge the existence… Continue reading 10% IMPERIAL JAKEHEAD IN HOWDEN’S HOP CAVERN
A FAILED SEARCH FOR MICE IN HOWDEN MINSTER
March 2025. Howden. If this blog has one objective, bar acting as a diary of my travels so I can prove I wasn’t at the scene of that murder on 7th October 2018, it’s to promote the lesser-known gems of the UK. Like Wem, and Stafford, and London. I’d driven through Howden just enough times… Continue reading A FAILED SEARCH FOR MICE IN HOWDEN MINSTER
HOWDY, HOWDEN
March 2025. Howden. One night back in Sheffield, then straight back out to Goole with Mrs RM in tow, kicking and screaming. “I’ve never been to Howden” she says, like Charlene in that 1982 Motown Number 1. “Have I ?“. Well, we’d certainly passed through enough times, headed for East Yorkshire honeypots like Driffield and… Continue reading HOWDY, HOWDEN
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