“and breathe a sigh of relief that my last county tick is a corker.”
“the cask was secondary to the joy created by landlord and locals, welcoming taxi drivers and port workers…”
“I felt part of the pub.”
Take a look at Martin’s lovely review from back in April, which we just spotted on the interwebs.
Since then, we have progressed to 8 ales on as well as 14 ciders, and we a just pausing (closed to public) until August 4th, to enable us to extend our offer.
The full text of the blog post is below:
Is it a wedge pub ? I’ve no idea. I hardly noticed that shape till I just looked at these photos from last Tuesday.
A first overnighter in the campervan this year, saving me the £120 it costs in the Imperial with FREE (0) parking along the South Pier. Which looks best in black and white, I can tell you.
You even get the best view of this art installation called “Norfolk”.
More attractive art installations awaited on the short walk to the Blackfriars Tavern. This one is called “3rd best town walls in UK after Chester and York”, apparently.
My pub is well sign-posted.
Oh, perhaps that pile of old cars was the Banksy. Has he changed his style ? Or is that a sign to where you get your cash out in Yarmouth ?
GY doesn’t have a lot of Guide pubs, but a fair few of them have been dotted in these back streets between the southern docks and amusement arcades.
So how had I missed it ?
I enter to “You Can Call Me Al“, which has been playing continuously in Norfolk since 1986, and breathe a sigh of relief that my last county tick is a corker.
It’s bigger on the inside. I’m sure someone else has said that.
With a trio of regulars at the bar, I put my trendy* Gandhi jacket over the nearest chair and prepare to annoy the landlord, faced with a row of five similarly interesting looking pump clips.
“What beer should I have then ?”
“It depends what style you like“
“I like beer. Choose me a beer, any beer“
I am such a prat in pubs like this.
“Would you like a taster ?”.
“NO !!! A pint’s a taster“. You know the script by now.
Anyway, something by Fat Cat,
followed by a Vanilla Stout by Mr Winters, observed by little Buddy (everyone loved Buddy),
and then something the landlord did rave about from Bull of the Woods which brought back memories of Steve Earl programmes in Bungay.
It’s a drinkers’ pub, but to be honest the cask was secondary to the joy created by landlord and locals, welcoming taxi drivers and port workers and tickers.
“I had eight large doubles last night. Well, you’re not gonna have eight SMALL ones, are you ?”.
I loved the fact it served Carling and San Miguel (with slice of lemon). I loved the relentlessly upbeat ’80s soundtrack (“Wishing Well”, “Don’t Give Up”). I felt part of the pub.
But I was, of course, horrified by the art in the Gents.
I wish I’d been there for their home-made pies and 10% Imperial Stout, but after three (3) beers in an hour it’s probably best it was off.
A great way to complete any county. Shame about the big smudge over Thompson, which isn’t something you get to write every day.
But was I done with Yarmouth ? Oh no.
*Mrs RM’s word, not mine