I was entering the death throes of my five day jaunt to Norfolk/Suffolk, with three pubs to tackle before the journey home.
Could Great Yarmouth keep up the same standard it had displayed in the Blackfriars Tavern and Red Herring earlier? Two left to tick off here starting with this .....
I'd already had to display great patience in circumnavigating this slow moving duo when a sweaty Irish man in a vest on a bike appears at my shoulder like a mad Shane McGowan parrot to help me find the entrance door. Mariners, Great Yarmouth (2554 / 4449) failed to live up to this early intrigue, in an experience I'd be forced to describe as 'a bit dull but certainly not shite'. Why GBG descriptions can't be this succinct in 2023 is the reason the book is the heftiest tome. The smattering of blokes and their dogs make their excuses as I arrive, and push off. I tried not to take it personally. The barmaid is a motivated cleaner, and apart from that one brief moment she's pulling my furry but not unpleasant Amarillo, she's generally found on her knees under tables polishing a plethora of knobs, fixtures and fittings. In the gents, I flood the floor with water because, being a thicko, I don't realise the tap can be moved so it flows into the sink. It didn't get any more noteworthy, and I leave.
My final of six Yarmouth GBG ticks follows swiftly .....
A crashing disappointment at the Tombstone Saloon Bar, Great Yarmouth (2555 / 4450), the Wild West theme is so half-cooked and flimsy, it puts me in mind of the UK's 5 billion so-called Peaky Blinders themed pubs which actually are just plain bog standard micros with a photo of the cast on the wall. Tombstone missed a great opportunity to have some fun and really go to town with the theme. The beer is shite too, gravity dispense I often find needs to be especially 'on form' to hit the spot, this pint certainly didn't. I think the lady behind the bar knows she's served me a cloudy duffer, she's spied my GBG she later admits, which may explain the guilty glances she's been throwing me. A scruffy selection of ignorant bar blockers lining the bar oh high stools complete a desperate scene, though the presence of Freddy Kruger and Mick Hucknall boost my morale a fraction. I'd had high hopes for this place dating back five years, when my uncle's funeral took place in Yarmouth, I thought a pub named 'Tombstone' would've been a perfect venue for a post cremation pint, but it was shut on Tuesday's back then. Luckily, this experience becomes pleasant thanks to a random chat with a table of gorgeous people with links to Hitchin and Luton close by, imploring me to get to a pub called the Nelson's Head in Horsey, but nothing the Tombstone can take any credit for.
Time to wend my way back to my Thetford H.Q. for one final time, hopping off in Wymondham which apparently is pronounced 'Wind'um' cos Norfolk is weird (there's a Happisburgh ... Haze'bruh for me to look forward to as well).
Decent trek out to the pub from the station, my final one of the holiday .....
'A very nice pub spoilt by a pint warmer than my evening mug of Horlicks and buttered crumpet', would be my one line GBG description of Feathers, Wymondham (2556 / 4451). Beer was called 'Cool Cats' too for a bit of added irony. Now I think about it, I had further gripes. It was a bit stuffy, way too foody in the main bar, and a super polite young lad told me I sitting at a reserved table but it didn't matter because the people had failed to arrive so I was allowed to stay where I was once he'd given everything a wipe. In fact, the staff were the highpoint here, you felt like they'd bend over backwards to improve your pub experience, though I didn't put it to the test. The pub had a lived-in authentic feel borne out by the 8.5/10 carpet, and the atmosphere was pulsating and managed to retain a degree of pubbub despite the other nonsense going on. A bald bloke, still peckish having finished his main course, somehow manages to create a chip butty despite a distinct lack of available carbohydrate, which has his wife beaming like "this is exactly why I married him".
I must've had chips on the brain after that, because I buy a chippy tea for the road. Not a great one but it filled a gap.
And then it was off home to York, via Thetford.
Join me tomorrow when we welcome the month of July with a trip to rural Lincolnshire. Five weeks behind on my blogging now, but I think this could be a good week to crack on with the catching up exercise.
Take care, keep it pub, Si
Nothing's "great" in Norfolk, is it ?