I began a Friday jaunt with a long bus ride towards Greasby. Respect for the dead is all very well but mile after mile of main road at ten miles per hour is a bit much, I feel.
Eventually I reached the Gravesberie Inn:
From the standard Greene King offering of Scrumdown, Landlord, Abbot and Old Speckled Hen I selected long standing favourite Abbot.
A couple of days ago I commented to some friends that the quality of the real ale in pubs has improved and I haven't had a pint of vinegar for a long time. Obviously this was tempting fate, and the Abbot here was very sour. Yeuch, I said, perhaps a little too loudly, I think everyone in the pub knew my opinion of the beer. It was replaced promptly without objection with a Landlord which was excellent. The barman, who hadn't served me but was advised of the problem by the barmaid, didn't just turn the clip round, he grabbed a screwdriver and detached it from the handle.
One odd thing about this incident was that at no point did anyone taste the offending beer. I know the customer is always right but throwing away ale just because of one complaint seems a bit foolish. The cynic in me thinks perhaps they already knew it was off and hoped to sell some to people who don't like complaining.
Anyway, this is a nicely done food oriented pub with a large area devoted to drinkers. A bit bog standard identikit in its decor, but pleasant nonetheless.
Not busy at two on a Friday but ticking over gently, conversations mixing with golf commentary. There's only one thing more boring than golf on the telly, and that's actually playing it! Oooh, contentious!
Next, a long stroll through residential streets to the Saughall:
I've always pronounced it soch-all but it occurs to me that that might be completely wrong.
Oh dear. Three handpumps, one clip turned round. Have you got any cask, I asked, but the answer was no. OK, I'll have a Carling. Er, I think that's gone as well. He disappeared out the back for a moment and returned to tell me it's bottles only, except for this Paradise No. 3. I decided to risk it and it was very sweet and fruity, I really liked it. Untapped tells me it's brewed by Thwaites. This is, of course, a Thwaites pub.
Sadly, something tells me this could be my last time here: Half two on a Friday, no lager, no Guinness, no bitter, no cask, and no customers. Except me.
Leaving aside the total lack of trade, this is quite a pleasant pub; the same golf on the telly but this time silent, thank goodness. Pleasantly decorated, knocked through but retaining two sides. Each table has a number and condiments, but I wouldn't fancy ordering any food. Who's going to cook it; is there a chef poised in the kitchen?
The barman "busied" himself playing darts, there wasn't anything else for him to do. Except get on to the brewery and order some beer!
On to the Willows, surely not as dead as the Saughall:
And indeed not: At three o'clock there are more than a dozen blokes enjoying, mostly, lager, and filling the large open space with chatter. No indication of any food offer, this is certainly wet-led and, compared with the last place, it's doing OK.
Depending on how fussy you are, there was quite a lot of swearing in the chatter, but it was all cheerful so I'm not complaining.
I remembered last time I did the next walk the sky was black and there were rumbles of thunder. No such problems this time but it was grey and windy and not the sunshine the forecast had suggested. On to the Overchurch:
As I circled the pub to get a photo I decided it wasn't open. But remembering that I had thought exactly that last time I was here, in 2019, I headed to the closed door, pushed and it opened. Inside I found one plain clean and tidy room with about a dozen customers chatting. This is a proper traditional boozer, long may it continue.
Again, the golf was on the telly, I presume that's the only sports event this afternoon, silent again I'm pleased to say, with just one customer watching closely.
There is another side to the pub, the lounge, but I think it's not open now, certainly there's no one in there.
The good news now is that the only "required" tick near here is a purveyor of great ales, and it's also the best place to go for the bus back to Liverpool, so on to the Bow Legged Beagle:
Ah, now this is the pub of the day. Two dozen or more customers and they're not all blokes, there are old women, young women, and little kids as well.
Four handpumps but I didn't look further than Peerless Oatmeal Stout, a long term favourite of mine and it was gorgeous as expected.
There was some music playing but it was drowned out by the cheerful chatter all around the room.
I studied the walls, they have run out of room for pump clips, I wonder what they do with new ones. In front of me I could see favourites White Rat and Big Bog's Peat Bog Porter. Are they still going, I haven't seen Big Bog for some time? Those were just in the panel beside where I was sitting, there were many other clips to consider.
As I enjoyed my wonderful stout I eyed up the counter. They've got Budvar, Erdinger, and a number of other keg taps I can't recognise from here. Hang on, why don't I just read the blackboard: Oooh, somebody's Peanut Butter Milk Stout, a sour cherry one, and a strawberry, so tempting all of them but I'm already on pint number five so I think I should head home.
Did this used to be a bank? (Checks Streetview: Yes it did.) The back corridor and the gents have impressively large safes in their walls, both branded Chubb.
By the way, for those who are keenly awaiting the delayed new edition of the Merseyside Pub Guide book, it is now with the printers and I hope to receive a proof copy shortly.
Beer of the day: Peerless Oatmeal Stout
Miles walked: 2.8
Maybe coming soon: Litherland
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