A steady start to 2022, with just 42 pubs saved in the first 12 days. I should have saved more. The highlight is, of course, putting a GBG county to bed (particularly when it’s Beds), and it was good to see off Hertfordshire as the county is a funny shape and requires skilful colouring. The… Continue reading WITH EVERY HERTS (GBG PUB) BEAT
Tag: Hertfordshire
A PITCHER OF PORNSTAR MARTINI TO FINISH A PERFECT NIGHT IN STEVENAGE
It was only 19:15 when we left Stevenage’s top Thai restaurant, and Mrs RM wasn’t going home to a tired Premier Inn with attached Beefeater yet. Not when there’s a classic Home Counties Spoons to visit to do a comparison of Cosmopolitans. There must have been 30 folk in that Thai place when we left,… Continue reading A PITCHER OF PORNSTAR MARTINI TO FINISH A PERFECT NIGHT IN STEVENAGE
SQUID GAINS IN SG1
Congratulations to Mrs RM on successfully escorting BRAPA to South Yorkshire completion yesterday, a day when the #PrayForBRAPA and #PrayForMrsRM hashtags were competing thru’ the day. I do worry about her hearing though. As we headed towards that Broken Seal micro I told her she’d recognise it as the street where I’d “Photocopied her Viva*… Continue reading SQUID GAINS IN SG1
VIVA LA STEVENAGE
Ah, Stevenage, the Skelmersdale of the South. Actually, it’s not that bad. There’s a few good estate pubs for a start. And the hospital where Mrs RM spent 48 hours in labour. But enough of that, for now. We walked the mile from the Beefeater into the Old Town, the first Stevenage tourists since it… Continue reading VIVA LA STEVENAGE
KICKING OFF IN KNEBWORTH
I can’t quite believe it, but I’ve checked The Spreadsheet and it appears I did no pubs at all on New Year’s Day. This is what it feels like, when pubs cry etc. etc. But on the Sunday Mrs RM joined me on a trip South to see assorted parents, friends and hangers-on to kick-start… Continue reading KICKING OFF IN KNEBWORTH
FIRKIN’ WATFORD
Well, the committee that makes up my blog titles went into overdrive on this one. Nothing rhymes with Watford, a place I can’t love, but whose brightly-shirted team of unpronounceable players kindly let my beloved City trample all over them at regular intervals these days. And then leaves their calling cards in pub toilets.… Continue reading FIRKIN’ WATFORD
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