Shere pleasure

When I grew up, one of the roughest towns nearby was Blacktown. It paid to be very streetwise when venturing out at night. Being close friends with a few locals helped a lot. Well, when I think of Woking, it reminds me of Blacktown: Fine during the day, a bit scary at night. And I’ve always called Stevie a Woking boy. He’s lived in the area all his life. He knows the right places to go, the right people to avoid looking at, the right kebab shops, etc. Well, no more!

Yesterday evening, Stevie met me at Woking station in his mini, all Mr Slick with his car keys, and took me for a spin around the area where he grew up. While it isn’t that far from Woking proper, it is worlds away. A leafy suburb with big, set back lawns, towering hedges and sleepy streets. He grew up in a paradise! No longer the Woking boy, he shall henceforth be the Little Prince. Sadly, we didn’t drive by his parent’s mansion. He was concerned that they’d spot his rather distinctive car and force us inside.

He then drove me to a nearby lake, where he goes fishing. He parked up and we walked over to admire this massive reservoir of water. Yachts sail on it, it’s so big. It’s about the size of Frensham big pond but long rather than round-ish. It was a glorious evening and nice to see so many people enjoying the water. It was also quite chilly so I was also quite surprised.

Back into the car and off to Shere. Shere is one of those English villages that has parking for 12 cars and manages to attract 30,000 people every weekend. It is the quintessential English, chocolate box kind of village with two pubs, an old church, Tudor buildings, thatched rooftops, the works. Mirinda and I used to live quite close to Shere when we first started living in Surrey. We went over one weekend, drove around a bit, then came home, it was so crowded. That’s a slight exaggeration. We actually managed to find a spot and parked, wandered around then visited the White Horse pub for a beer.

It was no easier finding a park last night but fortunately you can park a mini in the smallest of spaces, which we did, then wandered up to the White Horse for dinner. It’s a brilliant country pub. It was a farm house originally and became a pub in the early 1700s. Very welcoming, good beer and excellent pub food. Stevie went all blokey and went for the mixed grill while I had the delicious gammon and eggs (my usual pub dinner).

Stevie, being the good, conscientious chap he is, drank some fizzy stuff with blackcurrent cordial in it while I had a few pints of TEA. And I have to say that it was delicious. It’s interesting that beer from the same brewery can taste differently in different pubs. For instance, TEA is quite undrinkable in Wetherspoons in Woking but it was fantastic in the White Horse. Like buying it fresh from the brewery (something Nicktor often does when he’s been working in Guildford as the brewery is about a mile from here).

We had a lovely long chat, catching up on each other. He is presently engulfed in wedding plans – he is due to marry in September – as well as preparing for a friend’s wedding at which he is best man. The wedding will be by a celebrant (a registrar over here) in a garden and sounds like it will be lovely. Like they all do, I suppose. He also ran the half marathon in Reading, which I find amazing. Not because he’s unfit – he is the fittest person I know – but because it’s an amazing thing to do. Running 13 miles. Incredible.

We left Shere and popped into the Onslow Arms at Clandon where a band was playing to five people and a dog. The dog seemed to be enjoying the music more than the five people as its tail was swishing in time to it. I had a pint of Shere Drop, a very local beer with a lovely summery palate. We chatted some more and then he drove me back to Woking where we made the usual promise to make it a monthly thing.

It made a big change to our usual meet-ups as we didn’t get drunk. I mean, Stevie didn’t drink anything! I think we should try and do it like that next time as well. It makes for much better conversation and I can read the paper on the train going home.