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I have often driven past the Messenger’s Arms, a striking 14th century village pub on Rainingham Green, on the way to other venues. Curiosity finally got the better of me and for once, rather than just passing by, Mrs. U.I. and decided to treat ourselves to Sunday lunch at this hostelry.
On entering the bar, one is struck by the welcoming ambience of the establishment. It has plenty of character, history oozing out of every crevice and even a cosy log burner. Although the pub was extremely busy, a charming, efficient and very friendly barmaid quickly took our drinks order, making for a most agreeable introduction.
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For starters, I ordered a pint of Starmer’s Fresh Start, a beer which, at 5.8%, promised all manner of good things but which on first impressions proved to be somewhat flat and rather disappointing. Mrs. U.I. went for her usual large glass of Pinot Noir, which she pronounced to be perfectly acceptable.
Rather like the beer, first impressions of the bar staff also failed to live up to subsequent experience. Upon producing my MORON reporter’s card and offering to provide an excellent review in return for a mere few free drinks (and perhaps lunch!) the unhelpful and slovenly barmaid’s face assumed a glazed look of bovine stupidity and said that she would need to talk to the landlady.
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Attempts at further negotiation were brusquely rebuffed and so somewhat abashed (and despite the crush of people waiting to be served while we were conversing with the landlady and bar staff) Mrs. U.I. and I managed to find ourselves seats near the blazing log burner where we could sit down and finish our beverages.
I tried hard to like this pub but their inflexibility towards working journalists (who were only attempting to do them a favour on the publicity front) forced me to conclude that sadly, the dark, dingy and medieval-looking Messenger’s Arms simply lacks soul, its atmosphere just doesn’t exist and for some reason it doesn’t feel welcoming.
A couple sitting nearby us assured
me that this was the best pub for miles around and indeed, it seemed to be a
popular meeting place for folk as old as the surrounding
Such folk may well like that neutral and underwhelming sort of thing but from my point of view, the lack of free drinks meant that the welcome felt, well, a little bit lacklustre, a touch perfunctory. There just something about it which comes across as ‘oh dear, we’d rather look after some paying customers now’.
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Nevertheless (and despite having to pay for it) I found that after eight or nine pints of Starmer’s Fresh Start, the beer was beginning to grow on me. Mrs. U.I’s mood also began to improve and after her sixth large glass of Pinot Noir, she announced that she was now feeling somewhat peckish.
Despite snapping her fingers and become increasingly loud and querulous with the bustling but somewhat inattentive serving staff, we were simply ignored in favour of the dozens of other customers seated in the nearby restaurant area. Mrs. U.I. is not a lady to be deterred, however, finally managing to grab a passing waitress firmly by the wrist and stopping her in her tracks for long enough to politely inquire “if there wash any poshible chansh of some lunsh in thish plebeian dump…?”
“I’m really sorry, but have you booked?” was the outrageously impertinent response. “We really are very busy on a Sunday, especially near Christmas, and you’d need to have booked in advance if you’d wanted food. Sorry.”
“Booked?” shouted my outraged (and by now, somewhat tired and emotional) wife. “We don’t hafter book, we ish verr importan’ people I’ll have you know! Givvush a menu thish inshtant or elsh they’ll be shome trouble m’ girl, mark m’ wordsh!”
By now, my wife’s remonstrations were beginning to attract somewhat dirty looks from the surrounding paid-up members of the Darby and Joan club and so I felt duty-bound to defend her honour.
“What are you looking at, you wizened old baboon?” I inquired of an old codger who was tut-tutting at my wife’s attempt to secure us some lunch. Unfortunately, as I stood up, the chair I was grasping slipped out of my hands and struck the gentlemen on the head, knocking him out cold and shattering the aforesaid piece of furniture at the same time.
This simple accident at least had the happy effect of livening up the rather stuffy and staid atmosphere in the pub, with several burly members of staff rushing over to join in the fun. Mrs. U.I. and myself nevertheless gave a good account of ourselves until we were finally and firmly ushered outside.
For some reason, the local constabulary arrived just as we were leaving. Perhaps they had a lunch booking. Nevertheless, we thought it best to wend our weary way home.
Now I am a great supporter of our local police but our simple journey home really did not warrant the trouble and expense of a police escort. Fortunately, my high-powered Audi was more than a match for their own rather cheaper vehicles and I was soon able to leave them behind on the narrow, twisting country lanes of the surrounding countryside.
Unfortunately, our idiotic town planners had chosen to place drainage ditches at the sides of the lane – of all places! And as bad luck would have it, hitting a patch of loose gravel or something caused my car to spin, unceremoniously resulting in it winding upside down in the aforementioned ditch, leaving Mrs U.I. and myself hanging somewhat incongruously by our seat-belts, surrounded by exploded air-bags.
The local constabulary and emergency services were very helpful and understanding however, and after a few cheerful explanations we were soon taken home, with no harm done.
So in summary, my thoughts on the dismal Messenger’s Arms at Rainingham Green are as follows:
Décor: It has been lightened up considerably inside yet retains many of its wonderful historic touches. There has also been a lot of work done to improve the outdoor spaces. But on principle (see below) I have to report that the place is a complete dump. ⁕
Drink: The beer and Pinot Nior certainly did the job but any enjoyment was wiped out by being expected to pay for it. ⁕
Price: See ‘Drink’. ⁕
Food: We did not get to actually eat there because of the stupid and totally unreasonable expectation that one should have to book in advance, solely because they might want to have lunch in a busy and popular pub just before Christmas! ⁕
Staff: A miserable and surly bunch of jobsworths, who refused an offer of a decent review in return for a few free drinks, and who stubbornly insisted that we should have booked in advance if we wanted to eat there, just because it was a busy Sunday before Christmas. How pathetic is that? So much for customer service! ⁕
Catch up on all the Undercover Imbiber’s pub reviews here.
Comments:
Please note that we do not
moderate comments. However, we may edit or delete them, or manipulate the
voting on them in order to reflect our editorial policy.
Grey Mondeo Man
wrote:
So two old alkies walk into a busy local pub on a Sunday just before Christmas,
demand free drinks and food without a booking and expect to be treated like
royalty? And when they aren’t, they start a fight, get chucked out the pub, get
into their car totally pissed and get chased by the police until they finally
crash. All extremely entertaining I’m sure, but how does this constitute an
actual pub “review”? More like a true life crime story.
Yu Rong replied:
Ooooh get you and your tantrums.
Neil Barse replied:
A typically stupid reply from the typically stupid remoaning socialist
la**or-supporting woke snowflake that is GreyMondeoMan. Like all lazy parasitic
leftist scum, he is a blight on society and as such is unable to hold any sort
of discussion without resorting to vile, frothing insults. Crawl away and die,
you tofu-eating, guardian-reading pillock.
Chad Grindr wrote:
More shouty drivel from the GMM, the
Bystander wrote:
I happened to be present in the Messenger’s Arms when your
so-called correspondent was there. Both he and his companion were loud,
pompous, arrogant, drunken, obnoxious, completely self-entitled and (this comment has been cut as it does not
meet our community standards – The Editor)
Yu Rong replied:
Ooooh get you and your tantrums.
Uncover Imbiber replied:
As you can see from both the reaction to your intemperate comments and the
favourable and completely independent responses from my admirers below, your
opinion is very much in the minority. If do not like my output, please feel
free to pass it by!
Art. E. Fishall wrote:
I think these reviews are excellent and
very funny.
Clint Elligence
wrote:
I think these reviews are excellent and
very funny.
A Staffer wrote:
I think these reviews are excellent and very funny.
Ann Intern wrote:
I think these reviews are excellent and very funny.
Mrs U.I. wrote:
Tee hee hee you hit that old codger wiv a chair yor my bes mate you are I luv
you bruv hic
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Meanwhile, millions of illegal immigrants are coming to the
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