I’m thinking of starting a Peters & Lee* fan club you know.
It’ll really wind up all the Tull and Coldplay and Zappa fans who read my blog. I could give free membership to folk who join the Doom Bar NBSS 4.5 club.
Welcombe (pop 187) was my introduction to the delights of Devon, though the cream tea would have to wait.
A straggly village whose coast I missed.
My hour’s walk took me through some woods that would have challenged a pushbike, never mind a motorhome.
Soggy Well Lane (top) wasn’t just unsuitable for vehicles; after my Full English I struggled to squeeze through.
To be blunt, it was so quiet I didn’t believe there WAS a pub, let alone a vast rambling gastro house the size of the Old Smithy.
Only 13th Century, this one.
A pub for gentlefolk and gardeners.
A vast garden, including a raised area for local gentlefolk (all 13 of them) who wanted to be kept well away from the London plague we’d brought down. Fair enough.
I guess you can guess the inside.
No-one inside, bar a couple who looked distraught that a (very localised) power cut had deprived them of homemade fish stew, and they’d driven across from Maidenhead especially. They could have just had 3 packets of crisps each.
More BBB options. I didn’t see much c***t, cask or keg, the whole week.
Three families and a couple enjoyed a big orange spherical object in the garden, and I suddenly felt like a tourist. More than that, I didn’t feel like a plague carrier, which was nice.
As was the Proper Job, a cool and fresh NBSS 3.5 **
The walk back up the hill in 30 degrees was less pleasant.
*True story. While sitting on my Huawei on the way to Tesco last Monday I accidentally started some sort of Spotify listening group with 3 Durham pubs I’d messaged for opening times, and Welcome Home bared out of my back pocket as I left Tesco’s, to the bewilderment of masked gentlefolk.
DON’T SIT ON YOUR PHONE, FOLKS
**Don’t worry folks, there’ll be beer tipping before long, I’m sure.