Its Grand National Day today and it reminds me of a pub crawl we did in Thirsk , North Yorkshire , on that day in 2012. There was six of us and we caught the train there, arriving at 1030 am.
The station is over a mile from the town centre and a
brisk 30 minute walk ( so we got the bus) . Directly opposite the station is a pub called the Old
Red House. While waiting for the bus , I ambled across to see what time the pub opened. No sign of anything with opening hours on . As I was peering through the windows having a nosy, suddenly one window opened and a female voice, non too pleased, shouted " Yes Can I help you? we don't open till noon ". There was an unspoken "now bugger off" as she slammed the window.
So we caught a bus into town and found the Three Tuns, a Wetherspoons, in
the Market Place, in time for breakfast and a couple of pints.
Just along from the Three Tuns is the Golden Fleece
Hotel. This is an imposing former coaching inn with a small bar and a posh
Writing Room with large comfortable chairs. We settled in the latter with
Yorkshire Dales Golden Fleece Ale, which is a 4.5% bitter brewed by the
Yorkshire Dales Brewery in Askrigg exclusively for the hotel.
We suddenly noticed we were one short. " He must have gone to the gents".
Now remember its Grand National Day and he was gone a while, so I walked round to the loo and suddenly there appeared the missing person, dressed as a horse and jockey. As you can see I have pixelated his face but not that of the horse !
Well the next 20 minutes were a riot, just as well we had the room to ourselves ! We laughed so much we all felt a little hoarse.
Once we all settled down and after a couple of pints we left the comfort of the
Writing Room chairs and walked to the other side of the Market Place and the nearest betting office.
( If you can imagine someone in a horse and jockey fancy dress walking across a zebra crossing.)
I didnt go in, as I was sussing out more pubs but I am reliably informed said horse and jockey went unnoticed in the bookies. No one even glanced over from the screens.
He got changed in the next pub, the Black Bull ,where we watched the race.
By now the Wetherspoons breakfast was wearing off so we
found a fish and chip shop for a brief drinking pause, then it was into the
Darrowby Inn, also in the Market Place.
After about an hour the last bus back to the station was
due. The lack of public transport integration meant that there was a three
quarters of an hour wait for the train so it was into the aforementioned Old
Red House for the last one.
The only handpump was Black Sheep and the pub was just
ticking over. There was this strange drain-like smell emanating from one corner of the bar. So after a
quick pint, it was over the road to catch our train back home.
A fond memory seared into my brain.
