To Pocklington

This time, by bus, with the Port­land Street Ped­es­tri­ans, on the clos­ing tour of the winter sea­son.  First pub was the Black Bull, crowded but only John Smiths cask and a mediocre Bass in the drink­able cat­egory. Digit­ised Juke Box had a vast selec­tion but only gave part of the title and the singer’s name, which led to some oddit­ies.  Bet­ter enter­tain­ment would have been had at the Arts Centre nearby, where Mar­tin Simpson was appearing.

The Feath­ers Hotel was much more like it — a wide selec­tion of beers, Cale­do­nian Over the Bar was excel­lent.  At the next, almost deser­ted pub, just round the corner, they had Cop­per Dragon, from Skipton, and then at the last, which seemed a bit like someone’s rather untidy house, some Cour­age Dir­ect­ors went down very well.

We had our bus back to York to ourselves — it runs to bring rev­el­lers back to Pock after a night out, rather than the reverse, but it gave us time to con­tem­plate the sum­mer sea­son of pedal-powered excur­sions — of which more, no doubt, anon.

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Johnny G.
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