6:10pm on a Saturday, only four pubs into the day, because Lincolnshire is a different animal. The kind of six toed (don't mention toes) horned beast that wakes up late and parties all night.
My final two pubs both had opening hours of 6pm advertised. On a Saturday! Was this real? How could this be real? It was time to investigate. Breathe in.
Seems highly unlikely as we enter Three Horseshoes, Scotton (2528 / 4423) to a throbbing crowd, most notably a trio of blokes sat under the stairs by the loo who 'baa' and 'oink' their approval at our arrival. Two pints White Rat and two packets of Scampi Fries. That is peak pub livin'. The barmaid is a good sport, noticing the lack of indoor space and encourages us to go through a conservatory where there is a 'pleasant' outdoor patio. No bother, as the indoors wasn't exactly one to write home about. And besides, Daddy B. is enthralled by the smoking clay device on our table killing any insect within 100 metres. What a shame Father's Day gifts had been sorted, oh well there is always Christmas. As White Rat experts, we deemed our beers 'good enough, but not Fox Inn York quality'. On returning from the loo, I walk around the side of the pub. A cat is lurking underneath a car. A low flying bird flits past, cat somersaults mid air, doesn't even get close, then lands in a sitting position and starts washing itself like it wasn't really trying! Good save. But I couldn't leave here satisfied until I knew whether this 6pm opening was genuine. So I loiter to ask on the way out. She confirms it to be true, leading to a few chuckles from the locals behind me, as it seems she was a couple of minutes late opening up and an impatient throng had formed outside. Considering therefore, that 8 minutes later when we arrived, everyone was settled, drinks in hand, busy pub, this is definitely worthy of some form of BRAPA commendation.
So it was time for the final pub of the day, and 6pm opening was never in doubt here, it had 'evening wine bar' written all over it , not literally.
My poor sunburnt neck. They were simpler pre-toe times! Having visited the village's other GBG entry the Horn Inn a couple of months back, and been underwhelmed, it was a pleasant surprise to find Pooley's, Messingham (2529 / 4424) quite the little gem. It had bags of history and character, felt like one of those small European museums carved out of a myriad of caves, with only two earthenware pots for artefacts. Ugh, why is describing pubs so difficult? I try my best. Staff are gorgeous people too , and White Rat again, what's going on? Went Vocation instead (excellent quality) but this usual Lincs departure from Doom Bar, warm Bateman's and some local slop from a farmer's shed was quite unnerving. The highlight comes whilst I'm being served. The landlord pulls this barrier across, 'twixt me and loo. Then he checks no one is in the loo. And then the floor opens revealing steps down to the cellar! Not seen the like before, and I tell yer what, good job the loo checking is highly vigilant cos you'd end up with quite the drop if you exited, unaware! And it might be more than a broken toe. Imagine how insufferable I'd be if I broke a leg or arm? Pubs are fun aren't they? A fine way to end and day which started poorly, but ended up Pooley.
I stayed over at my parents so we could celebrate Father's Day the following day, but there was drama as I returned to BRAPA Towers and realised Colin wasn't with me! Surely I'd not left him in Lincs.
Mummy BRAPA finds him two days later hiding behind a blind on the window sill. How did he get there? Could he not stomach the thought of Norfolk again and was trying to escape?
Because a week later, that is where I was headed for the first of two quickfire 5-day BRAPA summer holidays.
On another scorchio Saturday, I travel down in stages, allowing myself a rare foray into Cambridgeshire to tidy up a few bits in Peterborough and Ely.
We'll end today's blog by telling you about the first (and joint best) pub of the day ......
Out in the 'burbs at Fletton, the door springs open at 11:57am which is just as well cos I've been stood here since 11:50am and already the sun is melting me. Wonky Donkey, Peterborough (2530 / 4425) was a winning micro, 'Kent' in its attitude. A dog called Bella licks my legs as I make my way to the bar. I order a Chiffchaff (beer, not bird, they don't have enough meat on them). The landlord is another vigilant type, he looks up at the clock, 11:59am, and tells me we have to wait until it ticks around til 12. Memories of Ipswich '07. Worth the wait, one of the only pints today which was up to GBG scratch, which is sad to say. Bella whimpers, and slopes off home, citing dehydration, having licked the moisture off all surfaces and drained her water bowl. The locals are soon at it. A lively bunch. The obligatory Scot in a vest with hairy grey arms is really bringing the party to Fletton, whilst a few more demure chaps spy my GBG and seem impressed with my Peterborough record to date. They struggle to understand why a York resident would find Peterborough exciting, despite my best efforts of explanation! A real positive start to Day One. It wouldn't last, but it was nice whilst it did.
And there we go, another three blog'd, we are now on 24/6/23 so I'm going to try and stay a month ahead whilst we get through this busy holiday period.
No #ThirstyThursday tomorrow due to train strikes, which is annoying, because it is the only Thursday I can do this month! So I'll do another blog and have a #SiFiPieFi night instead.
Toe still sore, but it survived three York pubs plus a closed Wetherspoons last night quite well.
Thanks for reading, Si
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