More holiday snaps from what felt like a forgotten corner of the UK, albeit one that will shortly see holidaymakers flocking in their millions to the Boris Bridge tentatively scheduled for early summer, which will make my ticking in Northern Ireland easier.
Most of those are in the GBG, and if you spent 3 days here you could cover the lot as a prophylactic against future Guide entry. But I’d come for the scenery*.
As you’ll know, the sun shines on the righteous blogger, and I enjoyed a glorious sunset.
Less than a thousand souls here, plus few daytrippers from the heaving metropolis of Stranraer, with a gorgeous stretch of coast all to yourself.
I walked the bounds in about ten minutes, the low sun mucking up my arty shots of the St Patricks ruins.
Best stick to the harbour, where the pubs are.
Pubs, of a sort. The sort you get in slightly upmarket old fishing villages in West Wales and Eastern Scotland.
The Crown is very pubby. Unfortunately that means the entire adult population, some wearing shorts, in March, sitting round the bar.
Sometimes I’ll try to get to the pumps; now I couldn’t be bothered.
“What cask, er, real ales have you got ?” I ask the cheery barperson.
“We’ve got Boff and Wallop on” I think she says.
“I’ll have Boff then”. That’s exactly how it went.
It was really good, despite the imperfect glass. In fact ALL the beer I had in Dumfries and Galloway was good (NBSS 3) or better, so take that Fife.
The longer I was there, the more English accents I heard; perhaps they come for fishing, perhaps for castles, perhaps for deep-fried haggis. I hadn’t thought they might come for the beer.
And you wonder why I’m so desperate to get away from Cambridge each week ?
*I’ve read this back twice and I sense it’s a bit suspect but without Russ to comment I can’t be sure.