Beer: Robinson’s Trooper 4.8%A No-mates Friday – so I decide on some early post-gym pints on Market Hill; the very centre of town, which we’ve yet to bother with this survey. The Crown had nothing but GKIPA and Doom Bar on. The Red Lion looked too bright, too packed – I looked through the window to see two redundant real ale pins, with no clips on.
The Castle has changed quite a bit over the years – back in the 90s it was The White Hart (aka The Wet Fart), before going mock Irish and eventually becoming this “rockers” pub. Every town needs at least one of these; it used to be The Bridge, and to a lesser extent The George II (apologies if my local cultural history is out in this respect), and it’s here now.
Typically, it’s alright: I’m a vague supporter, not necessarily a subscriber, to this form of obstinately alternative boozer (it’s the same kind of commitment level, though £8pcm cheaper, that I afford The Bear). The clientele is nicely eclectic; leaning toward the grungy (and grungy through the ages – millennials to OAPs). Some characters seem to be trying too hard, notably the lass extravagantly showing off her latest tatts. Meanwhile an aged couple are sat amongst a pile of shopping bags. They’ve been to Boots. They also own a small dog which yaps and jumps up at folk returning from the lavs. Victims laugh it off and/or antagonise the wretched tuft o’fur and teeth still further – before skulking back to their corner of the pub, muttering anti-canine curses under their breath. Saw that a couple of times.
Yappy snappy dogs, doing their feisty thing, may be fleetingly amusing - but a pub’s better off without it. The music, which I would almost certainly have found distracting if/when very much louder, is inoffensively dialled down at 7pm. The beer, Iron Maiden’s branded brew, is very decent. The Castle’s alright.
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