Oooh, a poster for an event you haven’t quite missed yet.  It’ll never catch on.

Next stop, Bishops Lydeard, which for the purpose of this post ONLY I’ve decided rhymes with herd or third.  Tomorrow it can rhyme with fish if you want.

All roads lead to Wiveliscombe

Show us the trains, already” says the heritage bore.

Not Thomas the Tank Engine, sadly

Not only a picture, but also a whole 3 seconds of wholly unnecessary steam.

I spoil you on this blog.

Sadly, my new tick was one of those “Brewery Tap in a Shed” type things.

Not heritage

Quantock don’t have an attractive shell to work with, but they’re doing their best to bring in the young families who have mostly been noticeable by their absence in West Somerset.

I suppose if you’re a millenial dad who’s spent the best part of £100 entertaining toddlers on a slow train to nowhere you deserve a beer (only a half, mind).

Jam jar alert

And the Quantock Pale is cool, tasty and cheap.

But, Emily 1 and Emily 2 were very bored, and determined to ensure I couldn’t take any photos, and millenial dad got about 3 minutes of peace.

I found peace over the A358 (via the underpass) in the heart of the real Lydeard. It’s an underrated village.


I’d enjoyed the Bird In Hand just before I started this blog, but it’s just changed hands (though in Somerset “just” can mean a decade ago).

Perhaps the jam jars are new

Half a dozen Old Boys and Gals sitting at the bar, all on pints.  All said “Hello“.

I had time for a half of a pleasingly rich Butcombe (NBSS 3+) and ten minutes of peace.


It was Eli’s birthday.

There’s nothing happy about a birthday once you reach 70

There followed some discussion on the merits of blow-up dolls I’ll spare you.

Citra was to be the next guest beer.

“Oh dear, Citra”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it”

“Yeah, live a little”

I was delighted to see the Women’s cricket from Brizzle being treated seriously “That spun”, “Great save”, “Come on Storm” before someone rather let the side down with “Cor, look at her !”

And over it all, Jack Russell stands, admiring a Proper Pub.



    1. Similar you’d have hoped, though as the Landlady guessed what the next customer was having (it was the Rev) it’s possible that was going even quicker.

      NBSS is a measure of the pub rather than the brewer, if course.


  1. Here’s a conversation primer for you: Is the welcome we receive in a boozer in direct proportion to our age?

    When I was in my idiot-boy late teens and larey 20’s, I don’t recall ever being welcomed as a stranger in a pub by anyone, least of all the locals at the bar. Nowadays it’s an almost daily occurrence. My recall is that young strangers were regarded with deep suspicion, particularly in the scuzzy Somerset village pubs I had a preference for. Presumably I’m much less threatening these days to the steady ti-toc of cider drinking and heavy afternoon Euchre sessions…

    Liked by 1 person

    1. When you’re young, other people (and not just other young people) judge you. When you’re older, they don’t. As I’ve written on my blog in the past:

      “I can recall a handful of occasions when I was a speccy, geeky 20-something where I was barracked or made fun of in pubs. Generally I just kept quiet, drank my pint and left. Now I’m a speccy, geeky 50-something nobody seems too bothered – I just blur into the generality of older male pub customers.”

      You might stand out in a high-end gastropub or trendy craft bar, though.


    2. I only started visiting pubs at age 30, bar the odd dining pub before then, so hard to compare, but I’m sure you’re right.
      Just as I’m sure Scuzzy had a good GBG pub once.


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