Random Review
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Yesterday I discovered the true meaning of Yorkshire grit at The Fishermans, easily the prettiest pub in Bingley, I'll take your word for it Raptor. As I climbed the ramparts leading to the side terrace I was greeted by a hoard of savage Yorkshiremen, with a token Liverpudlian thrown in for for good measure. Shaking with fear I thought they were there to defend the pub but not so. Their only interest was to ensure my safe passage through the barbaric county of Yorkshire and to advise me of the protocol to be observed in the environs of The Fishermans where service comes at a price. This stood me in good stead as I was able to procure a meat pie and shandy, paid for on the spot or it would never get to the terrace, house rules! Meanwhile, Rob, the local wiseman kept a tight reign on my dog, Cleo, who's presence might have got us barred had the landlord, Bob, a migrant from Doncaster, not been such a convivial fellow.
As night fell and the temerature dropped, Bob niftily wound up the canopy and a client in the know, possibly a local aristocrat,kept control of the 2 minute timer which lit 2 of the 4 burners on the patio heater. Pleased to see that Bob has taken the Government's Global Warming warnings seriously. A little re-alignment of the assembled to take advantage of the 2 radiant bars created a tableau of glowing, happy faces, duly grateful for their hosts consideration for their well being.
Well lads your fighting spirit and triumph over adversity, and loyalty to The Fisherman's is a true example of what is meant by Yorkshire Grit. Have one for me, and get one for Bob, it was great meeting all of you. Judy Ward and Cleo the dog from hell, aka Mansfield |
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