A great thing about Bristol is that this pub is this pub.
Opposite the most iconic street in Bristol – the joyfully grand Royal York Crescent, the longest terrace in Europe – and right in the heart of what we’re legally bound to call ‘Clifton Village’, this place could be going in all kinds of directions. [...]
To Poole, then – just down the road from Sandbanks, the bewjewelled teardrop in the Bournemouth Bay. People spend millions in order to live there. The surrounding areas must be nice, too.
Poole preconceptions: gentility-on-sea, abutting onto mossy, comforting estuarial waters. Hanging baskets outside Georgian terraces, gulls whickering overhead. Blue rinses, quiet tedium, the odd delicafe, [...]
Hilarity, tabs and music played by bands called ‘Cass Casswell’s Monster Trio’ and such like. And heroic outside drinking in the summer months. Like.
I don’t want to confuse these constructions with life’s eternal laws, so let’s just say the Kenny is a relatively confusing pub. Cracking bacon sandwiches, mind.
Out in those special wilds of the Cotswolds, the wintry fields lie dun and bleak, while the pedestrian cowers on splattered verges as executive Jags roll by on their way to millionaires’ farmhouses. The villages that dot this muddy quilt are almost uniformly gorgeous, either nestling snugly in the sharp wooded clefts in the [...]
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