Royal Barn/ KL9

Over the twenty-five years that I've lived here, the number of pubs in Kirkby Lonsdale has remained pretty constant, occasionally dipping as a venue closes for a few months - usually The Snooty Fox with its merry-go-round of landlords - or sometimes for quite a bit longer (see Plato's and The Royal).

It's pretty rare for somewhere completely new to open. Prior to this month, I think the last time was maybe 15 years ago when Andy Wilkinson opened Avanti (although it was originally called Ditto). But now we have the Royal Barn, opened by the guys from the Kirkby Lonsdale brewery a three or four weeks ago, and thus the number of pubs and bars in the town is up to nine.

When we were out at the Christmas Fairs, the Minx and I hatched a plan with Simon and Ruth 'Hunter S' Heritage that we'd use an evening between Christmas and New Year to visit them all in one session, although in the end Ruth had to bow out today due to the none-more-lousy combination of a bad hangover and work deadline. Ouch.

After a quick splash of Prosecco to get us started, we three wandered down into town, deciding to start at the southern end in the Royal Barn (pictured). It being a micro brewery, I had my one pint of beer of the evening, which went down very well, before we moved onto the Royal Hotel, which is currently suffering a bit of a charm deficiency in its staff, to be honest. And that's a shame because for a long time it was the second friendliest bar in town. Still, that didn't affect the mulled wine, which was delicious. 

From there we moved on to the Snooty Fox. This used to be a wonderfully idiosyncratic pub, even though its reputation for good food has been nothing more than that for as long as I've lived here. Ten or so years ago an Irish chap called Dave ran it as a temporary landlord installed by the brewery and my friend Mark and I struck up a bit of a friendship with him. Dave was an excellent publican and knew how to run a good pub. A lovely man with just enough implied danger about him to deal effectively with belligerent drunks without actually raising a hand to them, he was a great host. 

When the brewery started to actively look for new tenants Mark and I convinced him to pitch for the lease but it went to a couple who ran the very successful Punch Bowl out at Crossthwaite. Sadly, that was the last we saw of Dave and it also marked the start of the decline of the Snoot.

But onwards. The next stop was Avanti, consistently the friendliest bar in Kirkby Lonsdale, its appeal only limited by its layout, which is just not quite right. Andy Wilkinson opened it eighteen months after he sold the Sun Inn (more of which later), at which point all of the old Sun regulars abandoned the stopgap watering holes they'd been using and went to Andy's new venue. Somehow both modest and gregarious, his generous spirit and genius approach to employing friendly bar staff ensured that Avanti was every bit as successful as the Sun had been. Indeed, the son of a friend of mine was behind the bar and he served me a red wine (which I'd moved onto in the Snooty Fox). 

The low point of the evening was to take place next door in the Red Dragon. On paper, this should be an excellent pub but where it satisfies in just how you'd like it to be pub architecture, it consistently lets you down in its ambience. I honestly don't know how it's got it so wrong for so long and stayed in business. I once took the kids in for a meal, just after 5pm, and we were the only ones in there. I ordered some food but the barmaid re-appeared to say that the chef wouldn't serve nachos, which Abi wanted, after 5pm. So we went next door to Avanti.

Tonight it was surprisingly full - i.e. maybe fifteen other people in there - but what ambience we found was quickly dissipated when a lad climbed on a chair and started a call and response rugby song with four of his mates. What was amusing for maybe a minute dragged on and became increasingly crude. Frankly I don't think any of us were enjoying it apart, perhaps, from the guy leading the singing.

In the end, I got up and asked him to stop. This didn't get a very favourable reaction from our lead performer but I am looking fairly hefty at the moment (see Wednesday) and, even though he was on a chair, I wasn't that much shorter than him. Probably down a dose of adrenaline, I wasn't feeling remotely nervous and I think that probably came across, too, and in the end he got down and went back to the bar.

Whilst I then started shaking, albeit imperceptibly, Simon did a good job of matching the sulky stares coming from the bar and our singing chums left just before we did. Looking back on it, I think what irritated me most was the fact that they had the chorus of the song wrong but you've got to wonder what kind of prat gets his pleasure from dominating the evening of others and singing below par smut. 

Anyway, we were glad to get out as you can imagine, and to make our way to Plato's. Once upon a time, in the nineties, Plato Harrison's was a deli, upmarket wine shop, and a restaurant, all run by one guy. It was amazing. Part of the restaurant was down in the cellar, which was quite poorly lit - i.e. just how I like it - and back then you could still smoke in restaurants. I had what may have been the most enjoyable meal of my life down there. 

Plato's the bar is, as far as I know, related to Plato Harrison's only inasmuch as it kept hold of the name. It's not a bad little place, actually, although I rarely go in there. (I have this perception that it's a bit overpriced, which may be doing it a disservice). Either way, there was nobody in there caterwauling with their friends and that seemed like a good enough result to me. 

If anyone is still reading, that's six down and three to go. 

And so to the Sun Inn. I can remember when Andy Wilkinson had the place and you could get a pizza - a good pizza - in there for a fiver. Whilst he might not have made any money on those, it did mean you often stayed there for your supper rather than heading home: he really was - and is - nobody's fool. Honestly, Saturday nights in there were like the bar at a gig but we all kept going.

In the end he was bought out by a company from Manchester, with the stipulation that he wouldn't open another bar in Kirkby for at least eighteen months. I suspect they thought he was a rural mug who didn't know what he was doing. The first thing they did was double the pizza prices and install a city centre bar staff in a country pub. My friend Hugo and I went in there one Saturday night a few weeks after they took over and we were the only two people at the bar.

Ultimately, the pub ended up in the hands of a very nice couple and I think it's probably the finest dining in Kirkby Lonsdale. (It's where we went last week.) It was very pleasant this evening and happily we found a table. Sometime I think the biggest challenge of getting round all the pubs in Kirkby is the desire to settle in somewhere and that's certainly how I felt at the Sun.

But we were on a mission and we crossed the road to the King's Arms. This is the pub in Kirkby that shows the sports and consequently it doesn't really appeal to me. However, it is my friend Bob's favourite pub in the town, I think, and he knows a thing or two about bars and restaurants, so that should tell you something. It was certainly friendly and welcoming enough this evening but we didn't hang about too long because we were only one pub from our goal.

And that pub was the Orange Tree (formerly the Yellow Fleece). This is a really lovely old pub, actually; lots of wood, which always goes down well with me. The bar staff were charming and we finished off our evening with shorts before making our way home, tackling the steep incline of the ginnel in the dark.

All in all, it was a great evening out, evening if the Red Dragon did add a little contrast to the event. Our original mission - the plan we hatched with Ruth - was to include the rugby club as well, making it the KL X, but we'll save that adventure for when she's with us.