Louth, the Lincolnshire Wolds market town just 16 miles down the A16, was to be our pre- Christmas day out on Saturday. The previous evening, I had spent a couple of hours in town, watching the World go by (which at this time of the year is usually made up by the once-a-year boozers, hell bent on destroying either their reputation, or everybody else's peace and quiet.) with them stopping, frequently, to gorge on the many and varied alcoholic offerings available in every bar, annoyingly upping the volume of inane works chatter, staggering, queue jumping and, basically, just being obnoxious, flirtatious and loud. Works Parties are like chicken at a barbecue. Served up right, enjoyment ensues. Get it wrong and you will end up with your head in a bucket, wishing you hadn't bothered !!
Back to the main subject of this posting. Louth. Quaintly old fashioned, definitely middle classed, and, undeniably, a bloody good place to have a pint or two. We, eventually, jumped on the 09-45 bus, after a determined route march to the Bus Station because of hidden scarves, lost gloves and decisions to be made over dresses before we left our abode (not mine, I hasten to add. I chose trousers on such a cold day!!!). The chatter on the No 51 was of all things festive, and most of it still to be done. One aside was a little conversation concerning the military and the Officer class. T'other 'arf confidently spoke of the training they do “...at Sandringham”, been on the telly, apparently, “Yes, They do so many weeks there.” I resisted for a full 30 seconds before adding “ Must be a Bootifull Acadmee” Quizzically, it was enquired if Sandringham was not the place she was waxing lyrically about. “No, Jane. Sandringham is in North Norfolk, where HRH has a holiday home. Just near Hunstanton, where we caravanned, twice, in the past. I believe you meant Sandhurst !!” I almost never heard the cussing, but I know there must have been some.
We alighted our charabanc, adjacent to the market, perused the stalls, avoiding the 6 quid Xmas sweaters but failing not to buy a couple of bacon butties. I cannot visit Louth without thinking of those TV shows that depict life out in the “sticks” in those bygone ages of the 60's and 70's. Time does seem to have stood still here, and I like that. I like that very much indeed. It gives a warmth to your visit, whatever the weather. Green waterproof country jackets, with check shirts, matching flat-caps and, either, brown brogues, or stout outdoor boots are much in evidence, with tweed also popular. The agricultural roots of Lincolnshire are very conspicuous in this neck of the woods. So, on to the purpose of our trip. After a quick coffee, I turned the beer radar on, and we headed off towards our first port of call. This was to be The Gas Lamp Lounge, near the Riverhead area of Louth, in
|The easily missed Gas Lamp Lounge,Louth|
|A Seasonal Favourite.|
To finish the day, once back in our own Borough, we alighted from our transport outside The Wheatsheaf, rather than travelling on to the Bus Station. Although less than a week away from the Big Day, The 'Sheaf was very quiet, but I sometimes prefer that. We went for the McEwan's “Signature” a 4.8% chestnut brown Bitter, which was full bodied, quite rich and fruity, but pleasantly balanced. The creamy head lasted all the way down to the bottom of the glass. Another swiftly followed, and then the lights of our own Christmas Tree beckoned. Setting off home, surrounded by all the twinkling lights and festive scenes, I felt quite content with my little lot in life, and this leads me to thank anyone who is still following me, and this meandering blog. Thank you, Happy Yuletide, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Zarathosht Diso (I hope I have not missed anyone's celebration out ) and may you all enjoy this time of the year as much as is possible.
Cheers and keep it “Real”