Trapped In A Richmond Pub
The Prince Charles approved pseudo-Georgian Richmond* riverside floods at high tide from time to time. It did this Sunday, and I was cut off by the rising waters in the White Cross pub. This is a perfectly acceptable place to be marooned on a sunny autumnal afternoon, but in case you do wish to escape the pub has some wellington boots available if you wish to wade your way back to civilisation. We didn’t.
The last time I was in Richmond at a notably high tide, a guy had parked his posh sports car on the slipway, only to return to find it mostly underwater and surrounded by hundreds of revellers, waiting for him to come back so they could point and laugh at him. To the guy’s credit, he took it in good humour, even as he fetched his sodden top-of-the-range laptop from the back seat. He raised it above his head like a trophy, the crowd roared, and the insurers presumably paid up.
It was much quieter this time.
*Richmond-Upon-Thames, London. Not Richmond, Yorkshire, Richmond, Virginia, or Richmond, Kentucky.