The White Horse, Woolstone, Oxfordshire

Some beautiful weather broke through the clouds Friday afternoon (which is nice, as I’ve missed the fantastic weather all week save for a two-hour trip to Cirencester).  Running from the Blowing Stone across some fields I could just make out the outline of the White Horse for which the next pub was named.  The landlady greeted me with a friendly and quite hot Eastern European accent and apologised for not having the Arkell’s Pilsner.  “Don’t worry.  It doesn’t matter, let’s just do a lager.”

On the way to the garden a 7-year-old backed into me and said, “I’ve lost my toof!”  Great, that’s just what my reputation needs at this point, now I’m bludgeoning primary school kids.  I looked at his dad as if to say, “I barely touched him, and he was looking at me funny, just asking for a slap, anyway.”  The dad smiled at my pantomime and we had a nice chat in the sunlight about the perfect day it was turning out to be.

 

The White Horse is quite old and looks it but is also fantastically maintained.  A bit pricy, it is well situated just a few miles from the A420 and directly in the shadow of the White Horse hill and worth the slight mark-up.  It would have been worth a second beer but as this was my third on this run and I still had to make those miles to the A420 disappear I returned my glass and had a few final pleasantries with the staff.  Wonderful.