26/10/23 - The Blue Anchor, Helston

 Celebrating an absolute classic with Spingo Middle

A wet Thursday afternoon on the Lizard peninsula. I've got a designated driver. Only one place to go.

The Blue Anchor,  Helston.

In we go!

This is a completely unmodernised brew-pub - famous for their Spingo beer. The building, a C15th Monk's retreat. A narrow corridor leads to a couple of snugs on the left, two rooms on the right (one with an impressive fireplace), a skittle alley and a separate brewery room.

Time to make a choice

Laughter and life is coming from the front bar on the right. A collection of old boys, clearly in for the afternoon, superbly marshalled by the landlady. Whenever the story telling and micky taking extends to profanity, they are swifty admonished and threatened with the swear jar and/or expulsion.

All of guide dog in training Ivy's previous hard work goes out the window. One of the old boys notices her on her lead and demands that all dogs in this room are free dogs. Mrs M's resolve eventually goes and the dog is allowed loose to make her own friends. Dogs playing in a confined space would alarm some but not in here. I always abide by the unwritten pub rules of following the local customs.

Onto the beer - only two on cask today - a 5% Spingo Middle and a Jubilee IPA. 

Spingo Middle

I vow to try both. The Spingo Middle met with approval and went down rather too quickly. My return visit to ask for an IPA was met with scorn. The old boys said I should stick with the Middle. Even the landlady suggested that the IPA was far inferior. Made me wonder why they brewered it, if they are talking people out of buying it :-)

Before things get out of hand dog-wise, Ivy is rounded back up, falls asleep on her settle mat and we soak up the atmosphere - frequently engaged in conversation with whoever next makes their exit to use the facilities.

Plenty of nick nacks and artworks on the wall. My interest focused on the list of public executions in Cornwall, including a couple for battering a previous landlord of this pub.

Punishment for many crimes, harsh.  Except William Hocking.  He's a wrong 'un

Three rounds and its time to head out for normality of life outside the pleasure palace. Not often I have to leave a premises by providing handshakes with new friends and I don't think they noticed the slight tear in my eye. Three pints of Middle and afternoon bonhomie can do that to a man.

In an attempt to recreate the experience later in the year, I've exported some of the magic to the West Midlands. I doubt it will work in front of Jools Holland's Hootenanny, but I am prepared to give it a go.

New Year's Eve sorted