On the Saturday morning I walked off the cobwebs in Cardiff Bay.
One of these days I’ll revisit the last surviving boozers in Bute before they close for good, replaced by chain pizzeria.
Some impressive cider based art on display near the Parliament.
One quick stop on the way back, in the tangle of villages on the Herefordshire/ Gloucestershire border. Five miles and five lifetimes from Ross on Wye.
No doubt Simon will be looking to cadge a lift to the Beauchamp Arms in Dymock, probably on the back of a tractor, when he gets to “G” in 2022.
Owned by the parish, it has that community/ACV feel, though without the gastro menu.
Everything is dead or nearing death.
The folk are pleased to have their pub safe, anyway.
It’s as much a parish council meeting as a pub, with debates some way from the weather/ football norm.
The Old Boy in front had the last of the Ledbury Bitter, which spluttered to a finish just below the level that a Teesider might consider acceptable.
“I’ll have it anyway” I offered.
“Just a quid then please”
That’s the spirit of free enterprise.
Truth be told it was a bit foamy and nondescript, but having asked for the end of the barrel I can hardly complain.
Great fire. Nice flies.