'Hidden Gems of Oxfordshire' is how A.I. wants me to approach this blog. Silly robot.
Far too optimistic, although now that we've reached the halfway point, I'm expecting to say a few nicer things about this batch, possibly .....
My first tick of the week was also the gayest. And if we ranking LGBLTQBRAPA+++ pubs of our past, I'd rank it about halfway between Manchester's excellent Molly House (providing it is still hitting 2016 standards) and Dumfries dire Douglas Arms. It gains character through it's multi level / side rooms layout, mine host is very welcoming, and the spooky scarecrow Vale beer is dark and moody. Too chilly in here though this afternoon, a lack of atmosphere briefly punctuated by a fruity couple arguing over house spiders. Perks me up cos I know it's a constant battle. Less pleasant, a bunch of drinkless blokes half asleep slumped over mounds of luggage in the back room. Did anyone know they were here? As Freddie Mercury looks at my todger whilst I wee, I turn to see hand written lyrics to 'I Want to Break Free'. Can't remember whether the sign below said 'John Taylor' or 'Roger Deacon' but in any case, stop getting Queen wrong! The flush/Flash joke was some consolation.
The 'of Mutton' had vanished, and I joked at the time perhaps the owners are vegan although I'm not brave enough to ask cos I know how terrifying my sister can be when you get onto that topic. But later on in Steventon's North Star (spoiler alert - that one will appear in part 5), the locals tell me that really is the reason! Crikey. Huge if true. Playing it with a straight bat, a solid if unspectacular pub. Warmer than King's Arms across road from where I'd just come, and more customers, but still no carpet or beermat in sight. And certainly not a sausage. Marble Mild was a morale boosting beer choice, and on top form. They had a Mallinson's too, very un-Oxon range. One tiny dog had the loudest bark ever, but at least it was blocking out the piped Coldplay.
We're bombing down the Oxon country lanes 2:15pm, Daddy BRAPA has made a quick petrol stop and I'm like "step on it Dad, pub closes 3pm!" so I'm surprised when we arrive to see the pub shut and a blackboard saying 3pm OPENING! Well well well. I re-check my GBG and I'd written it down correctly, but misremembered it. No worries, we go to Worminghall just over the Bucks border and return here. Today's best pub so far, because it felt like a pub! Simple format when you think about it. Good woodburner. A few scruffy locals. Inner stone walls. Dad orders a bag of nuts the heathen and barmaid seems aware of my allergy before I'd said anything .... and he'd not even opened the packet at this point in case you were worried I'd swelled up! Very intuitive & lovely, like most female Oxfordshire bar staff. A highpoint in a tricky week. Peculiar pint of Aylesbury, looked pale, tasted dark, but was called 'Mirage' so perhaps deliberate. We'll give them the benefit of the doubt, because I want to!
My first Oxfordshire 'greening' outside of Oxford itself, with the exception of the Bird in Hand at Henley on Thames which is looking a better pub with each year that goes by! Felt fairly comfortable here, a trad brewery tap if you can imagine such a thing, like a bland Fat Cat in Norwich - bare boarded, heating turned up, helpful staff, in fact I made a barmaid jump out of her skin as she returned from her mid-shift poo by asking what the Wifi password was. Quite an achievement considering the amount of Hallowe'en leftovers strewn about. In fact, it was nearly my turn for an unexpected poo when the bloke with the Jason Price early noughties dreadlocks moved his hand - I'd thought he was decor! Considering Abingdon on this Monday evening was displaying levels of traffic that'd make Maidstone AND Ashford blush, and the central location, me and JP are the only customers in. Sad. The Shagweaver drank well, and because I'm funny, I quip to Colin 'it as close as you'll get to a pub carpet in Oxon'.
Totally different scene in here on the same Monday night back in the middle of Oxford after Abingdon, this pub was positively thrumming, some might say humming, with a student swarm, most are wearing checked shirts. It made for a happy lumberjack atmosphere. Overheard snippets of conversation were all ridiculously try-hard highbrow, like they knew they had stereotypically roles to play. 'Favourite round on Only Connect', 'European bird song' & 'problems with mummification' were just three I picked up without even trying above the din. It wasn't just a one-roomer though, there were surprise corridors and nooks & crannies. And the rabbit wallpaper I rated 8.25/10. The Ox Blood drank beefily. Please ignore how bright the below photo is, I used filters which was silly because the pub was happily low lighting.
Directly preceding my White Rabbit experience, just around the corner, and I'm not sure why I've ranked it one place higher. After all, this pub really was too bright, I was sat atop a posing stool, and most of the other customers were sulky solo blokes disconnected from reality. AND it smelt of .... baby wipes! That's a new one for the pub olfactory league table. But my excellent pint of Wylam kicked all three of my Abingscum beers into touch. And I could enjoy it in a gently ornate, all encompassing pub atmosphere where you could sense the shadows of drinkers past, or maybe I was finally getting a bit tipsy five pints in. A slow burner, but underlying undenying quality creeping through.
So there we go. Join me on Sunday night for Part 4. I've had a quick look at the list and we'll definitely be getting into some good stuff.
Have a great weekend, Si
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