The Bat and Ball, Farnham

I was convalescing at the weekend, having been under the weather for days. Who would have though the old nose to have so many bogies in it? "Out, damned snot" I went as I blew my nose yet again. Oh yes, you get proper literature on this blog.

But enough of this nonsense. On Sunday the lovely Lisa and I went for a stroll in the forest at Alice Holt, which just happens to be right by Holt Pound farm. Unless I'm mistaken that was the last place hops were grown in Farnham. You wouldn't believe how excited I got as we drove past.

Alice Holt was good, if a bit busy. After doing the whole healthy thing: you know, getting fresh air and stretching our legs, I was feeling much better so it was time for some refreshment.

We called in at the Bat and Ball, a nearby tick. It was a large old fashioned pub with a log fire going and we managed to get seats nearby.

They had half a dozen beers on, and free roast potatoes waiting on the bar, a practice I thoroughly approve of. As seem to be the case in most pubs on Sunday afternoons nowadays there was a profusion of ankle biters wandering round. What's wrong with sitting outside with a bottle of coke and a bag of crisps, eh?

As you would expect in a pub called the bat and ball the was cricket stuff on the wall, but of more interest were the old pictures of hop pickers and a brewery yard with those giant barrel pyramids they seemed so fond of.

I had a pint of Timmy Taylor's Golden Best (3.5% ABV) which isn't as good as Landlord. Lisa had a Itchen Valley Winchester Ale, a well kept malty red beer which seemed to go down well.

Then it was time to head back and get the roast on.