When visiting a new town I usually consult a guide to find out where the best pubs are. This time the book let me down – the only pub listed was boarded up (but still open). I didn’t even poke my nose around the door.
But strolling through some back streets I came across this place. They serve plain simple food, and only one well-kept ale. But one glance into the warren of little rooms, the red velvet upholstery and dark wooden wainscoting was enough to convince me.
There were even bells on the wall – in days gone by you could have pressed to order a refill. But we ordered at the bar and found a spot in one of the gorgeous snugs where I sipped my beer and got out my camera.
It’s the kind of local where people know each other, but even if they don’t they’re not in too much of a hurry for a chat or just a friendly smile. Honestly, it was pub heaven.
But I’m not going to recommend it to anyone. I don’t want it appearing in the guidebook. That may be selfish, but I figure it’s lasted more than a hundred years without that sort of publicity, and who knows how it would change if it got really popular.
So I’m not saying where it is, but if you ask me nicely, I might take you there for lunch some time.