The Blue Lion Inn Pub and Restaurant with Accommodation
Walking into the Blue Lion is like walking into your granddad’s shed—if your granddad were a master brewer with a pension for plaid carpets. The bar itself is an ancient oak plank that has, I swear, witnessed the signing of the Magna Carta’s little-known sequel about beer taxes. Nobody hustles you here. You order at your own pace, which is usually the same pace as a tortoise on vacation.
The locals will eye you with a suspicion usually reserved for people who put pineapple on pizza. But buy one round of their house ale (a dark, muddy thing they call "The Lion’s Slumber") and you’re suddenly part of the family. A very loud, slightly drunk family that debates the merits of hedge trimming versus the weather.