psmv5: To Leatherhead

Last week to Leatherhead for what is, for us, a reasonably rare visit, although BH does use the rather grand Institute of reference 2. And we used to use what was then the Thorndike Theatre, named for Sybil Thorndike, although neither I nor Wikipedia know if there is any particular connection. Rebranded as the Leatherhead Theatre of reference 3 when it lost public funding, presumably along with many other such establishments, back in the 1990's. I think we last visited for something Gilbert & Sullivan, although I have failed to turn up any such thing in the archive this (Saturday) morning.

Back with the present occasion, a rather cold day and Leatherhead town centre was a little bleak, with a rather moribund feel about it. One dead pub at the top of town. Plenty of eateries, not that many shops and not that many people. Footfall, in the jargon of the trade, thin. But, given the odd geometry of the town, perched above the Mole, and the death of the small shop, hard to see what could be done about it. I suppose in time, along with many other small towns, this one will evolve and find a new niche in the world. But how long will it take? I associate this morning to the pictures you see occasionally of dead shopping malls and dead towns in the US: there the world just moves on and leaves the corpse behind. No evolution, just extinction. Bing turns up lots of them, one of which is included above.

We had parked next to the 'Running Horse' by the river, and I was impressed that my telephone managed to register the mist rising over over the water. A passer-by explained that the land beyond was flooded from time to time and that, rather less often, the houses to the left (in the snap above) needed to be sandbagged. Which amounts to an awful lot of water coming down off the Weald, down from Crawley.

We thought about taking lunch at the 'Running Horse', an ancient house with plenty of history, with the name, according to Wikipedia being a Chinese whisper from 'Rummings House', named for the proprietress. Not yet satisfied myself that the snap above is indeed the same as the present building, for which see reference 4. In any event, we decided against and set off instead for the 'Rubbing House' up on Epsom Downs, by the racecourse. A house which was still a pub when we first knew Epsom but which had now moved firmly into what they call casual dining.

I managed to get there without getting lost, and it turned out to be fairly busy. Mainly pensioners like ourselves, some people who appeared to be on lunch breaks and some ladies who lunch. Plenty of staff, all properly masked up.

For once in a while, there was calves liver on the menu, large or regular, so we took one of each, with some dips and flatbread to start. All very good, only faulted by my forgetting to say gravy in a jug on the side. And served by a proper waitress who might, until recently, have come with a little notebook in which to take the order, but who actually came with a small computer. Tapping the order onto the screen took rather longer than the notebook might have done, but then you are buying direct access to the kitchen.

Being quite full, Expresso and Bells for dessert. Expresso being something which I don't take very often, and was a bit disappointed on this occasion. How long before the next experiment? This being about the only context in which I drink coffee, never drinking it at home.

Will such places ever return to lighter desserts, such as we eat at home? Stewed fruit, jellies and things like that. Just a bit of cheese and biscuit, rather than the full Monty. I suppose the view is that people will not pay to eat such stuff out. They want fancy- and they don't resent the mark-up on fancy.

By the time that we had left, the moon had risen over the grandstand. Having looked rather bigger on the day than it does in the snap above. Funny business, vision.

Later on, I thought to try the cheese noticed at reference 5. I thought toasted might be the way forward, and to be fair it did toast, at least after a fashion.

But I was not very taken with the taste. I don't think that we will be buying any more of the stuff. While I wondered whether we would manage the packet we had got. Would thrift triumph over palate?