A 9am GBG tick. What more could you ask for on the first day of your holiday ?
Thank goodness for Wetherspoons, giving ticking holidays a flying start since 1979.
It only meant a minor detour from our usual route above Dartmoor, and it’s important to support the beleaguered Tim as those nasty small breweries gang up on him.
“It’s in Mutley” said Sis. “Like in Wacky Races“.
I pretended I knew whereabouts in Plymouth this Mutley was, before letting Sis let Google direct us off the A38. If only I’d remembered I’d been there to tick the Fortescue, but I can’t remember EVERYTHING.
Free parking for 2 hours, to attract tickers.
It looked plain, a crumbling suburb north of the University
Much like a North West London settlement propped up with charity shops, tired Spoons and “dance studio“.
What’s not to like?
Compact, rather overwhelmed by arrows and sticky tape, and half full with that peculiar Spoons mix of old blokes with plastic bags and students buying breakfast for £2.15. The plastic bag man was more fun.
Sis found the balcony with its startling views of pigeons attacking rubbish bins.
I’m not sure Sis REALLY wanted a pint of Jail Ale at 9.15am, but she knows the rules.
“Highly quaffable” said our beer expert. That weird lemon soda and a pint cost £2.30. Ruddles would have knocked a quid off the bill.
We would have set off for the Roseland peninsula, tick in the bag, but got distracted by street art.