I hope I didn't sound like too much of a curmudgeonly grump in part one, but tonight we'll move on to a slightly happier batch. Still a bit 'gripey', but better. And possibly with less to say.
You'll like that won't you? Lower word count (you know it won't happen).
20. Tannery, Hexham
I was happy to be pipped to the bar by this dynamic duo as I was desperate for a poo. Sorry for oversharing but it is important to the narrative, probably. In I rush, but soon realise our old mate from Craster, Big John, has beaten me to it and used up the last of the loo roll. Thankfully, I have travel tissues, hand wipes and some stray kitchen roll in my bag to alleviate a tricky, sticky situation. This pub is the self proclaimed 'living room of Hexham' and whilst I admire the Antic style shabby chic rug-clad aesthetic, it ain't for me. Not on a Sunday afternoon anyway. Stuffy. Everyone has a dog. And most people are young Europeans eating mushroom risotto cheek to jowl. My phone charger lead has finally died. And my beer, randomly from Laine which I'm sure is Brighton, is a difficult swallow. Not convinced by the quality. I don't have much luck when it comes to Hexham and GBG visits!
19. Black Bull, Wooler
Our smoking tank topped flat capped stick hero promises much at this fabulously unfussy tatty old hotel bar, but my frustrations here lay with the atmosphere. Sinister silence reverberates off the walls in the busy front bar, whilst the hidden backroom is an absolute scream of pissed up lunchtime locals, no doubt these two are ringleaders. The loos are down this way, and when I walk through, no smiles, no 'alreet pets', just reserved furtive glances as if it say "back bar locals and front bar johnny-come-latelys shall not mix". Even when staff smash a glass, all remains quiet. I felt suffocated. So did Colin. Thankfully, the Tyneside Blonde drinks a lot better than it had in Hexham. It is small consolation.
18. Pleased to Meet You, Morpeth
A champion pint of Almasty murk was the highlight of this dark, brickie, brown and grey bunch of deliberate blandness which I think appeals to a gin cocktail crowd more than some saddo ale cauliflower dude. I had to walk about a mile to the furthest corner of the huge island bar to find it, squirrelled away on its own, I'm surprised how well kept it is. The bar is a less vibrant bastard lovechild of L**ds Head of Steam, York Pavement Vaults and King's Cross Parcel Yard. Emily's Tea Room is attached, brighter and busier, perhaps I could've taken my pint through here and sat with a bit of Tiffin for a happier experience. I end up putting my headphones in, contemplating whether I'd make a good Emily #WokeSi2024 and enjoy a bit of Against Me, as this modern 'Crazy Frog' they've got playing here is doing my swede in.
17. Tap & Spile, Morpeth
Absolute scandal that a pub with EVERYTHING in place to be a classic somehow fail to impress, but fail it did due to a dishwatery pint of Consett White Hot (which has always been fantastic from past experience), they still had '2013 CAMRA winner' chalkboard up, which says a lot. Not only that, the locals, such a claggy local bunch, completely ignore me, as does barmaid. It felt like the kinda pub you'd be welcomed with open arms. I mean, a toilet trip had me inadvertently pushing a door into a back 'sitting room' where a bunch of gadgies are sat around playing Irish reels! The Gents loos are outdoors. The bench seating is worn and perfect. A sliding door takes me back into the bar the other way, I trip over a dog, stroke it, and still I'm invisible! Finally a bloke relents and includes me in his "what are the chances that it is both mine and barmaid's birthday on same day, please buy me a pint" quiz, but I was only a prop in truth! I'm sure when I leave, putting my empty glass on the bar, someone says "did you hear something?" "Probably just the wind!" How does this kinda thing happen with a cauliflower on your table?
16. Victorian Tap, Hexham
Rising from the ashes after three months of closure circa Nov-Feb, this nicely thought out corner bar might've been a rare Hexham win for me, what with a cracking pint of Old Peculiar - but the curse of Hexham, I should say 'Hex' really (thanks!), struck again and it just fell flat and was a bit of a misery. I unwittingly interrupt a Camden Town sales pitch. This lady with an overly loud, southern monotonous drawl is trying to become the pubs rep in the area, and when Camden Hells ain't the topic, Corona and other drinks less nice than OP are discussed. It is all a bit stilted chat-wise.
Her : So if you go with us, I'll be on call for you 24/7
Him : (obviously joking) Cool, might give you a ring at 3am then!
Her : Well, I'm not sure I'll be available then!
<Crickets> <Tumbleweed>
Oh yes, I cringed, glad OP is a nice strong drink. I'm the only customer for the duration, carpet is a shocker, like an owls dirty plumage. The TV is breaking up so I can't watch random U.S. sitcom. When Miss Camden leaves, bloke looks tormented, jangles his keys, taps a laptop, says nothing. I think the brighter 'other bar' might've been more fun, sunnier and a bloke with headphones in there says hi on my way out.
15. Atelier, Berwick-upon-Tweed
Putting the 'twee' into Berwick-upon-Tweed, there was nothing to dislike about this cheerful breezy oddity, I just never felt like I belonged. Three dough eyed elves blink up at me, full of hope and Christmastime fairy dust sprinkles, and I immediately shatter their illusions with a very unromantic "just after t'pint innit". Sort of half Yorkshire, half Saffron Walden. Do they say 'innit' in Saffron Walden? A very nice Best Bitter called 'As You Were' goes down well. This right hand side is the beery side, but with most seats taken, I sit 'across the divide' (dun-dun-duhhhn!) which is more of a cafe, with a fine Fentiman's range, shortcrust pies and many jars of olives, pickles and chutneys. It is all the same room really so I hope I was allowed. Yet when I turn to ask cafe elf is she has a Wifi password (my fave Northumbrian question of the week), she's quite terse in her 'no'. Ooops. No one sees me leave, but the main beer elf (my fave) is waving and mouthing 'bye' from the window as I enter the street, which was a nice way to end a cute but weird little place.
Comentários