11th February 2023. Apart from being good company, Preston’s Matthew Lawrenson has the rare quality of being able to walk at my pace. So we arrived in the heart of Preston before the North End fans returned from their hammering at Burnley, before the pubs got too lively. Last time here with Matthew I’d forgot… Continue reading DOES ANYTHING BEAT A PLUM PORTER AND THE BUGGLES IN THE BLACK HORSE ?
Tag: Black Horse
“Your train leaves in 2 minutes, retiredmartin. Run !”
There are two burning questions in the world of pub blogging today; How is Martin the Owl being treated by the staff of the Cumberland pub where BRAPA abandoned him. How is that Leon and I were QUITE so P**** after a mere four pubs on Friday*. I think it was four. Castleford Tap at… Continue reading “Your train leaves in 2 minutes, retiredmartin. Run !”
OTLEY APP-ENINGS
You left me admiring Simon’s certificate of vaccination, which will allow him to jump the queue to get in Surrey’s micropubs, ahead of all those 20-somethings who throng Haslemere Hop Haus and Dorking Draft Dorm on a Saturday night. Surrey can wait, on Monday I was “Taxi for BRAPA“, taking the great man round the… Continue reading OTLEY APP-ENINGS
TWO PRESTON CLASSICS AND A MICK’S CHICKEN TIKKA
Once you start you can’t stop. After the Orchard I should have gone straight to Mick’s Hut for the curry and called Mrs RM to report on Matt’s Move. But you can’t walk past an open door, can you ? Particularly this one; The Black Horse has perhaps the most recognisable bar front on Pub… Continue reading TWO PRESTON CLASSICS AND A MICK’S CHICKEN TIKKA
ROCKAWAY RAMPTON
Ooh, a grumpy statue. Me so topical. James is home, and we can explore exciting Fen Edge villages in the hour before lunch. Like Rampton. Our one, not the one with a secure hospital up the A1. This was never going to be an epic trek, so Mrs RM came too. I might have promised… Continue reading ROCKAWAY RAMPTON
I YIELD TO HELLIFIELD
Into the Yorkshire Dales, almost, and one of those Craven villages you whizz by en route to the honeypot villages of Giggleswick and Feizor (?). Luckily for the ticker, Hellifield (pronounced Heffer) have commissioned a railway station, just for my visit. For a moment it looks like they won’t be getting my £1.65 as a… Continue reading I YIELD TO HELLIFIELD
THE ROAD TO LOWER GORNAL
Eagle-eyed readers may have noticed I didn’t score the Batham’s in the wonderful Vine. Don’t read anything into that; it was Good (NBSS 3+), fully deserving of its GBG place. It’s just the beer next door was even better. I doubt you’ll be following me to the Black Horse though. A friendly, modernised, opened-out fun… Continue reading THE ROAD TO LOWER GORNAL
FAKE CIDER HAND PUMPS TO KEEP THE DOOR CLOSED
Driving BRAPA around is a bit like rubbernecking, waiting for the pints to kick in around the 3rd or 4th pub. Of course, you’d never see me in a state like that. But he’s always so polite and cheery, at least until the micro pub decides to take the month off and not tell anyone.… Continue reading FAKE CIDER HAND PUMPS TO KEEP THE DOOR CLOSED
BAPS & BOMBARDIER
Baps. Or Cobs. Or rolls. Or whatever you call them. But never muffins. One of the best indicators of Proper Pub, along with mobility scooters and stolen goods, is a supply of baps behind the counter, available throughout the day. On that basis the Black Horse west of Durham City scores highly. You even get… Continue reading BAPS & BOMBARDIER
THE A68 – CRISPS, CASK AND CHOMSKY
“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans“, as Yoko Ono once said. So I spend my time planning trips to the Isle of Wight, wherever that is, and dreaming of making inroads into East Devon, but end up driving up and down the A68 past the mining towns of Durham.… Continue reading THE A68 – CRISPS, CASK AND CHOMSKY
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