tragedy

It seemed as though it would be there forever - a shining beacon of Sunday roast for years to come. After all, 14 years is a helluva long time to be running a pub, especially a leasehold pub. But it was a family pub and one of the last remaining family-run pubs in Cambridge. I remember when we first moved here. It reminded me of the country pubs around Diss, with their kittens running wild amongst the barstools and the ponycarts in the carpark. Most Cambridge pubs were a bit impersonal - lots of student pubs. The odd good one, but like all things, choice of pub is an individual matter.

No kittens or ponycarts at this city public house, of course - only a shiny black sheepdog sleeping by the fire, but it was a proper pub, with immaculately clean loos and an appropriately Fawlty-esque publican. I’d see him or his wife in the schoolyard when we’d pick up our kids of an afternoon. We ate at that pub every single Sunday - hardly missed a one in more than 2, maybe 3 years. Sad, I know, but when you find a good Sunday lunch around here, you stick with it.

But now, our Sunday lunch pub is under new management. Everards raised the rent on The County Arms and the publican had to reapply for the post. He was deemed inappropriate for the role. After 14 years. And has to move himself and his family out by Friday.

I’m gutted. They’re gutted. It’s a tragedy.

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