Following the lead of BRAPA, more short posts as I vainly attempt to catch up while using Devon internet.
For you quiz fans, identify this pub….
The next pub on Duncan’s personal journey of self discovery took us to our smallest city (on some measures, he adds to avoid debate).
By the time we reached St David’s, named after the patron saint of Davids, we were 90 minutes behind Duncan’s punishing scheduled, and in danger of not getting to Stackpole before closing.
As those of you who visit GBG pubs for a living will know, driving from Paisley to West Wales and missing the Stackpole would be like visiting London and not visiting the breakfast cereal cafe in Shoreditch.
My notes say “staff charming. Lots of drunk locals, average beer says D“.
Duncan is generous of spirit.
They weren’t necessarily farmers in the Farmers. But within five minutes he was chatting to a Friesian farmer, presumably from the Netherlands but possibly from Bavaria.
The barman brought my coffee over, I made two toilet trips while Duncan discussed non-league Fruesian moths, and we were a suddenly 100 minutes behind schedule.
And the Bass lure tournament is a hoax.