If you believe everything you read, Queen Elizabeth the First slept in as many places as Charles the First hid up oak trees. The news that the Queen was going to pay a visit was often greeted with dismay; accommodating her and her entourage was a short cut to bankruptcy. It would not be surprising to learn that her loyal subjects put the candles out and hid under the stairs if they knew she was coming a-knocking.This pub, the Queen's Head in Elmley Castle, proudly announces, on a rather decrepit inn sign, that she visited on August 20th, 1570. I wonder how many years it took them to recover. I don't suppose she found much Australian Merlot, New Zealand Chardonnay or Californian Zinfandel on the wine list.
Until a few years ago, she could have popped down the road and quaffed a quart or two of rough local cider at the Plough. There are still places in Worcestershire which serve this potent brew, reputedly flavour-enhanced by the occasional dead rat or some unspecified droppings. Once tried, soon forgotten, as your brain cells are ruthlessly stripped away.
Scrumpy, as it is usually known, was the first alcohol I developed a taste for back in my teens, served up in the back bar of the Swan in Cirencester. Look where it's got me, di-dum, di-dum, di-dum, di-dum, di-dum.
3 comments:
You've been very fortunate. Stick to the wine!
Scrumpy. Sounds, well, interesting. Kind of like 'screech'. Ever been to Newfoundland on your travels to Canada? Apparently screech is an experience you never forget - or never remember, I suppose it all depends on how much of the stuff you drink.
No, not been to Newfoundland but hopefully visiting Nova Scotia and New Brunswick later this year.
Anyway I'm too old to risk brain cell destruction
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