Greene King Is Considering Closing The Historic Red Lion Pub

So, grab your mug—tea, coffee, or something stronger—because I’ve got some news that’ll hit you right in the nostalgic feels. Greene King is thinking about closing the historic Red Lion Pub. Yes, that Red Lion. The one with the creaky floorboards and the ghost stories that are 90% local gossip.

Let’s be real—if pubs had royalty, the Red Lion would be King. It’s been around longer than your grandma’s fruitcake recipe, and it’s seen more drama than a reality TV reunion. But now? Greene King says they’re “reviewing” its future.

That’s corporate speak for “we might pull the plug.” You know it’s serious when a pub chain starts using words like viability and portfolio. Suddenly, a cozy village landmark becomes a business spreadsheet line item.

Why are they doing this? Money, obviously.

Pubs are expensive to run, especially the old ones with wonky beams and a chimney that smokes up the bar artistically. Energy bills are wild, and fewer people are spending their evenings nursing a pint and a packet of crisps.

But the Red Lion isn’t just any pub. It’s the kind of place where locals argue about the best way to pour a Guinness—and then do it for you for free. It’s got history baked into the walls, probably literally, if you count the nicotine stains from the 1970s.

Greene King bought it years ago, probably thinking, “Hey, old pub = easy money.” But old pubs are like old cars: they’re gorgeous, but everything leaks, and the heating system groans like a haunted mummy.

What does this mean for the punters?

If the Red Lion closes, it’s not just a building gone. It’s the end of a place where you could mourn a breakup over a whisky or celebrate a promotion with a round that burns a hole in your wallet. Where else will you find a landlord who remembers your order from 2016?

I’m not exaggerating when I say this pub has soul. The kind of soul that makes you feel like a regular even on your first visit. The kind where the jukebox has exactly one Fleetwood Mac song, and everyone sings along, badly.

Greene King says they’re “committed to the community,” but let’s be honest—that’s the corporate version of “it’s not you, it’s me.” They’re probably eyeing the real estate, thinking about flats or a coffee shop that sells £5 oat lattes. Sacrilege.

But wait—there’s a glimmer of hope.

Local groups are already rallying. You know the type: retired teachers with spreadsheets, local historians with impeccable mustaches, and that one guy who brings his dog to every meeting. They’re trying to save the Red Lion.

Some are talking about applying for an Asset of Community Value status. That’s a fancy legal way of saying, “Hands off, Greene King. This place belongs to us.” It’s like squatters, but with more paperwork and fewer dreadlocks.

Will it work? Maybe. Campaigns like this have saved other pubs—like the Black Bull in Yorkshire, which now runs a knitting circle and a craft beer night. Weird combo, but it works.

Honestly, pubs like the Red Lion are magic.

They’re where you go when you don’t want to talk about the weather, but you do want to talk about that thing your boss did. They’re where you can stare into a pint and solve the world’s problems, or at least forget them for 90 minutes.

And Greene King? They’re a massive chain. They own thousands of pubs. But the Red Lion is one of those rare ones that feels like it was built by gnomes with a sense of humor. You can’t fake that.

If you want to help, pop in for a pint. Seriously, it’s the most efficient form of protest. A full till tells a CEO more than a strongly worded email. Plus, you get to drink a beer while saving history—that’s multitasking at its finest.

And if you can’t make it, at least share the gossip. Tell a friend. Maybe two. The Red Lion has survived wars, recessions, and a particularly bad 1990s carpet. It would be a crying shame if it couldn’t survive a spreadsheet.

So here’s hoping Greene King has a change of heart. Or a sudden profit spike. Or a very vivid dream where a ghostly landlord shakes a finger at them. We can all dream, right?

In the meantime, I’ll be at the Red Lion, nursing a bitter and staring at the fireplace—because that’s what you do when a legend might be on its last legs. Come join me if you’re in the area. First round’s on me. No, really. I mean it. Just don’t tell Greene King.