Red Lion — Restaurant in England

The landlord has the most extraordinary pair of jeans. Bright blue with gold stars sewn on and a silver stripe down the side. He always makes sure he’s working on a Friday night so he can show all of the ladies and gentleman. People sing about him in a song they call “Pantalon John”, and slap his perky arse. If the pub makes £1500 on a Friday night, Pantalon John will drive his Range Rover with as many of his adoring public packed in as possible, with a trailer full on the back to boot, to a lovely spot on the Tanner Row in York called “Flares”. First shots on him but you must buy him one back. He loves a chance to show off his trousers in York, once Englands capital, but I digress. This night is Pantalon Johns and no one can stop him. After Flares shuts he likes to get one of the battered sausages from Millers chip shop he keeps in the glove compartment to snack on while he drops his fans off at there homes (yes he’s had a couple of drinks, no we don’t care wokey). But there’s always a last passenger. And that special person gets their own battered sausage, and they just sit and hold each other at the Haxby and Wiggington Cemetary for hours. The sausage is gone, but the sweet kisses linger on the lip. I wonder who’s go it’ll be next week, if the right money come...

Great beer and choice - Clearly well looked after as the draught is rich and smooth whilst larger chilled and lively. Speckled Hen is a favourite but Coors Light very clean and pure tasting. Slightly squeaky bar stools but nothing a quick service won't solve. Not had any food but fish Friday always smells amazing and looks good size portion too.

Update: no speckled hen any more, sadly, but Rev James stands proud, Coors is still very much worth the purchase and a great draught beer. No more squeaky stools, some lovely upgrades and...

We tried to have a beer there yesterday night, but after asking me to write my name for the track and trace (apparently the QR code to scan is too much to print out) and see a foreigner name, suddenly they decided to stop pouring my beers and to ask for an ID. When my partner show them his ID they asked for his nationality and then they pretended the passport. All of it without telling us what they needed it for, but we did not care: arguing with racists that dislike money was not our goal...