A gongoozler is a person who enjoys watching activity on the canals in the United Kingdom. ‘Gongoozler’ may have been canal workers’ slang for an observer standing apparently idle on the towpath. Though it was used derisively in the past, today the term is regularly used, perhaps with a little irony, by gongoozlers to describe themselves and their hobby. Wikipedia.
Going a bit off my usual northern patch with this one – a canalside pub in Coventry which was also a bit of a trip down memory lane.
The Greyhound Inn sits at an important waterway junction where the Coventry Canal meets the Rugby waterway and in times gone by was a strategically important transport hub for working boats carrying goods.
The Inn, the facilities for water, rubbish, toilets etc. are still important for boat folk and were a regular port of call for us when we lived afloat – including a memorable winter when we were iced in and unable to return to our regular mooring.
I have to admit that being iced in at outside a pub which serves great food and just a hop skip and a jump from one of the city’s main curry centres wasn’t that much hardship tbh!
One of the best things on the menu back then was a bit fancy in hindsight – rich fish (Bouillabaisse style) stew served with French bread and helpings of grated cheese.
But its big claim to fame is pies so, here’s the chicken, leek and mushroom variety. What can I say……I think you can tell from the picture we’re talking about a mouth melting pastry and a pie packed with filling.
No sloppy measures here and they serve gravy separately if you prefer your pie experience rather runnier.
The post blow out lunch walk took us up the canal to admire the visiting and resident craft. If you’re ever looking for a reminder of English eccentricity and individualism I’d recommend a walk along your nearest tow path.
On this trip I spotted this foodie inspired example which prompts you to wonder way, why someone would name their home after a Colombian confectionary product.
Even so, nothing will beat the highly memorable and beautifully traditional sign-written example we once spotted near Wolverhampton proudly bearing the legend, Morning Flatulence.