retiredmartin

You can’t beat a photo of Old Boy(o)s laughing merrily about the English Rugby team.  Or perhaps it was VAR.  I forget.

I also forget what the landlady of the Tanners Arms in Defynnog said to me as I stood outside patiently waiting for 5pm opening.

“Sorry, can’t open yet, had a bit of a doo-dah, comeback in an hour”  she said.

It wasn’t actually “doo-dah“, it was probably Welsh.  But it didn’t seem the moment to start writing it all down.

Luckily, there was another GBG pub just 14 minutes walk up the hill.  Fortune does shine on the ticker, as long as his name isn’t Simon.

So I admired the views over to the Brecon Beacons.  Or possibly Merthyr.

And tipped up at a frankly plain railway hotel for a non-existent railway station, a Welsh speciality.

Actually, there were a few tourists booking in to a spick and span hotel, which seemed to have cornered the market in lager choice.

Thatchers seemed to be the pint of choice, though they had the Rev, Tribute and Hobgoblin with a homemade pump clip for the benefit of tickers.  And jam jars.

“Under New Ownership” it said, proudly.  The 5pm trade seemed unperturbed by the change.

The Rev was a bit chilled, but comfortably over NBSS 3. I scored it on WhatPub, and hope it stays in the Guide.

It was better than the more exciting sounding “Roar” from Boss Brewing back at the Tanners, an unexceptional NBSS 2 I couldn’t finish.

Clearly the locals go for the flavoured Welsh ciders, enhanced by furry animals on top of the pumps.

Loads of furry animals, and a great deal of activity.  The doo-dah seemed to have been the usual power cut, but could equally have been the sighting of a Tiny Rebel rhubarb ice cream DIPA or a Conservative poster for the by-election about to be defaced.

The locals were making up for a late start (I secretly suspected it had opened the moment I turned to walk up the hill to Sennybridge) and it was the sort of boisterous but cheery atmosphere that would terrify folk who think Brunning & Price or Marston’s 2-for-1 are model pub.  Even the sight of local honey would terrify the B & P crowd.

As so often, the best pub rarely has the best beer.