I think it was Noel Coward who once remarked "the most flamboyant and farcical plays of our times have their roots firmly planted deep within the Fletton district of Peterborough".
That is a BRAPA fact, and having left the excellent Wonky Donkey and walked five minutes down the road, this GBG friendly part of Posh yielded today's second tick. If it wasn't in the Guide, you'd never have thought 'pre-emptive' strike, but here we are ......
Fletton Ex-Service & Working Man's Club, Peterborough (2531 / 4426) to give it the correct GBG mouthful. I wave frantically from behind the inner glass door, miss the first releasing of them, but manage to catch the second one. Despite my conspicuous entrance, no one bats an eyelid, asks to see a CAMRA card, GBG, put money in a tin, or even sign a guestbook. The type of no-fuss club I approve of! All life is here, the atmosphere is bustling rumbustious, and when I order a pint of Jimbo Purity, the barmaid makes reference to Jimbo and the Jet Set, which only myself and a greying man seem to remember. A lady next to me who looks about sixty claims she is too young. Unfortunately, this Jimbo never took off, poor form and the John Smith's glass did little to help. And to make matters worse, I'd committed the cardinal sin of swerving White Rat (the beer of the moment, I'd just been discussing it with the Wonky Donkey guv'nor), so the beer gods were obviously punishing me! A shame because this was prime club excellence in so many ways, felt like being in Blackpool enjoying some Punk Festival downtime on the last day. Blokes play snooker behind frosted glass, an old lady pirouettes around a pillar, but the bad beer is my abiding memory. But at least I exit with more grace than I entered.
I toddle around the corner, the sun getting hotter by the minute, as Fletton becomes 'Peterborough proper', in search of one of those "how the hell have you never been before, Si?" pubs.
In and out of the GBG like a yo-yo, that's the honest answer as to why it has taken me so long to tick off Coalheavers Arms, Peterborough (2532 / 4427), and until now, every year I've come to tick Peterborough has been a Coalheavers-free year. A solid backstreet boozer, I'm immediately impressed with the landlord Steve who asks where I'm from, what I'm doing etc. The buzz word amongst the regulars is 'muggy' and the young lad next to me shocks his mate and Steve by proclaiming he's moving off the ale in favour of San Miguel due to the heat! The pub is empty inside so I take advantage of a booth facing the bar under a cooling whirring fan. Now I'm NOT saying the locals are a bit slow in the head or anything, but everyone who came in from the garden complained about the heat, looked at me and said 'you've got the right idea mate' before breathing in sharply, collecting their fresh pints, and saying "right, back out to the oven!" Like someone was FORCING them to sit outside. I'm sure there is an unwritten rule in the UK that on any given sunny day, if the pub has a beer garden, you MUST utilise it. The Lacons Norfolk Gem is decent, but wilting slightly in the conditions and it is a tough one to finish. On the way out, Steve wishes me the best of luck with my ticking adventure. The mark of a man.
Time to edge closer to Thetford, where I'd be spending the next few nights. One more 'easy' Cambs tick en route, looked a cracker, 'Spoons I'm guessing ......
Ooops, turn around .....
Minster Tavern, Ely (2533 / 4428) is very much the pub I expected it to be, an unthreatening tourist trap which poses very few questions for the seasoned ticker. Like my Lacon's ale in the previous pub, you could sense that the porcelain skinned staff were wilting in the stifling conditions. I've been ticking in Ely several times before and the fact I've never seen this pub in a GBG before made me semi-suspicious. There's an agonising wait at the bar as an elderly couple deliberate over food, dangerous as the longer I'm stood here, the more likely I am to go for the Old Peculiar over a less exciting but lighter pint of Milton's. OP at this time in this heat might finish me! Thankfully, the bloke crumbles as his wife questions the merits of a Seafood Pie order and he dissolves away under the floorboards in disgrace, so I stick to the Milton. I'm forced towards the back of the pub, airier and even less inspiring. In fact, I save the green Stablio'ing til I'm halfway down my pint, so I have a 'special treat' to look forward to later! 'Just a little bit haunted' claims the GBG, but 'I Love your Smile' by Shanice was the spookiest thing that happened here, although a bloke with a German face did try and explain cricket to his patient Fenland-faced girlfriend.
The 'highlight' of my time here was colouring the bit from Ely down to the edge of Suffolk
Thetford was getting closer but it only has one GBG tick, so I didn't want to reach it too early, because I wanted to get my full six quota for the day, so it was time to stray into Suffolk.
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