We stopped in at the Chequers last night for a drink with pals Hayley and Tim. They kicked their night off with a posh scotch egg, which shocked me to my core, I’ve made my feelings about boiled eggs pretty clear over the course of this blog. I’ve never purchased a scotchie and I was distressed that when they cut this one in half to share, the yolk was all runny. Eggs and the people who eat you: WHY? They had a pile of mustard on the plate they casually dipped their sodding snack into, it looks like a fucking evil face on a plate.
This did not detract from a great evening, although for a while I thought Tim was wearing an Ed Gein t-shirt, but it was actually Wilko Johnson.
I drank a smooth sauvingnon blanc and Bob downed some Jack of Clubs beer from Wild Card Brewery. We’d already eaten before we came out. I heard a middle aged lady say to her mum as they entered the premises ‘they don’t have a normal selection [of drinks] here’ - which is to the Chequers’ credit - THEY HAVE NEVER LET US DOWN.