Here I go, reeling you in with cuddly fish and promises of Bass again.

This next one is a real curate’s egg, in this case the curate of Plympton, my base for the exploration of the Miners Arms in Hemerdon.

Take a look at the expanse of nothingness below Drakelands Mine (Wolf Minerals); that’s where they’re hiding the copies of the GBG 20 ahead of delayed posting this September.

Miners Arms

So here we have a Dartmoor destination pub of solid stone,

Welcome to our paddock

bucolic views,

Ooooh, what’s that glass

classic ’70s furnishings,


and plenty of irreverent drinkers at the bar enjoying those hooks on which to hand your Official BRAPA man bag.


And of course our friend Simon.

Orange is the new red

Anyway, back to the bar.  One other ale drinker, and he wasn’t drinking Bass, but I had to.

Barmaid checking which one is Bass

Devon has a rich history of Bass drinking, as we’re shortly to discover.

In it’s own glass, out in the paddock amongst the chompers and pashminas, I reckoned I’d found a little slice of heaven.

Go away, Huawei

But the first sip was a touch disappointing, and a scummy head rapidly descended into drabness.


You might think that’s a subtle difference, it really isn’t.  More drone shots of the heads on beers are needed.

Anyway, desperately disappointing, doubly for it being Bass.

They’d kindly provided a drain.

Don’t look down

Oh, sorry, that was actually the well wherein lie the remains of the last ticker to take a pint back.  I cut my losses and walked back to Plympton.



  1. So now I have to add a Drainability column to the spreadsheet. From your experience, and my walking trip to North Devon last year, cask quality seems very variable in Devon. Wonder if cask is now a poor third behind old school keg and cider. Even more of a problem if a pub goes for three or four casks.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. What did we call orange before we had oranges?

    I’ve got scarlet pimpernels – weeds – growing all over the place. I’d call the flowers orange.

    So, it’s the old red, then…

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I’m sure it’s never a pleasure to have to dump the remains of a pint, but it must be especially disappointing for you when it’s a pint of Bass. I imagine you’ve developed a special invocation you can utter to the gods of Burton-upon-Trent in such situations, assuring you’ll be forgiven. 😉

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Bass goes back a long way in Devon, and has a fair few devotees (probably not tourists).

      A landlord bear St Austell told me there was a covenant on the pub that requires him to always sell Bass 🙄


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