Well, when someone else is driving you to drink you may as well fill your boots.
I have to say, Duncan is a perfect passenger, never once demanding an emergency stop on the hard shoulder of the
So it was that on our way to St Davids we were only mildly diverted to yet another rural Welsh wonder.
A worrying sign outside the Bridge End Inn.
Despite any uncertainty about its future, and contrary to the last review on Google, we got another fantastic reception in here.
OK, it’s no Dyffryn Arms, but in 95% of the country it would stand as an unspoilt gem.
More local beers, I’m afraid.
Duncan tried both, while chatting to the sole regular at the bar about the quarry that used to dominate employment round here.
In a ferment of excitement I interrupted their flow.
“Duncan, Duncan. They’ve got Bass from the barrel“.
And so they had. No use to me, of course, but even a sniff confirmed this was the real deal.
The Gwaun Valley was turning into the Valley of Bass.
Two young lads had followed us in, and as they sat quietly sipping cokes they’d asked for politely, fussed over by the Landlady, I thought how refreshing it was to see a pub used by youngsters like that.
“I thought they were yours!” said our Landlady.
That really would have been a story.
Was Duncan wilting now?