The title comes courtesy of BRAPA, of course. I only paid for P&P. No-one has called me Mart since my sister ran out of space two letters short on my 8th birthday card.
The Poacher came after breakfast, a grand affair in Exeter’s other classy Spoons outside St David’s.
Good job I hadn’t popped in The Imperial for a nightcap the night before; I wouldn’t have resisted the beer range here either.
The statue of a young BRAPA sliding down the bannister (not Matthew) is a nice touch.
Ide could have been lumped under “Exeter” as well, less than 3 miles out from the Spoons, the central point.
But you’ve left the world of artisan coffee and random graffiti far behind when you cross the A30, a bit like crossing the M60 and arriving in Stockport from the Heatons then.
A real one street village, the sort that reminds you why Devon gets so many visitors despite seeming rather dull to me (lost my sole Devonian follower right there).
There’s a decent if smart-looking pub at the bottom of the hill, too, but the plainer looking Poacher gets the GBG place.
Will it turn out to be one of those remote pubs with six Locale ales and no cask drinkers that CAMRA loves ?
It was great. Not just the gorgeously bitter Branoc (NBSS 3.5+) that reminded me of beer quality at the award winning Tom Cobley up the A30.
Not just the homely seating in three lovely rooms.
And possibly not the buzz of local Radio sEXEy playing at irritatingly quiet levels.
No, it was the spirit of village life coursing through the pub that made me go “Wow” in that irritating Fenland way.
Interspersed with details of knee repairs and random outbursts (“Cheshire !!!”), they were attempting to agree on luncheon choices, and explain chilli to the village elder.
At that point, the Landlord returned from the shops.
“Morning Foghorn !” to the loudest of the ladies. You don’t get a welcome like that in Brunning & Pricey.
The orders were taken at the table.
“Can he have sausage chips and beans ?” said our loud hero.
“Yes we can pretend to be on a Council estate if you like” said my favourite Landlord.
I took my glass back and said thanks.
“Cheers my man, look after yourself”
If only he knew.