18th January 2020
The journey home from Cornwall, a dozen GBG ticks in the bag, via the now ritual overnight stop at Weston-super-Mare.
Bur first, the just as inevitable pub lunch down country lanes near the Eden project.
Now, you’ll know I never resist an opportunity to ridicule myself and my loved ones.
So if my sister’s navigation was garbage I’d tell you.
But she gave clear and unambiguous instructions to go down ever narrower lanes off the A30 to the Crown. Look at this blue line (actual width of lanes shown).
“Stay calm” said Sis.
4 miles took 20 minutes, and I’ve never been more pleased to not see another soul on the road. They were all in the giant car park of the Crown.
and one of the oldest pubs in Cornwall.
Modest exterior, stunning flagstoned multi-roomed interior.
I thought the whole effect was pretty pubby, with the main dining room soaking up the gentlefolk and leaving space for a couple of regulars.
We picked the room with a couple in it, and then annoyed them by talking. They still stayed for pudding.
I drank the dregs of an excellent Harbour IPA with an even better pork belly and crispy potatoes, and awaited the opprobium from the Two Mudg(i)es for eating kale.
Sis declared it top quality, and after consultation with the Pub Tickers Rulebook(Ch.5.3) declared the dregs worthy of a tick, which she administered herself.
just as well, my hands were still shaking from negotiating those bends.