Still in Ilfracombe.
The Quay was TOO busy; the Old Town deserted.
Cheered, I bought Big Issue for £3, Jarvis Cocker making his 317th appearance on the cover of that highly readable paper.
For the first time, closed shops and pubs outnumbered the open ones. A shame, as Fore Street is marvellous, and I’m sure I saw Bass.
But I had in mind a pint of Doom Bar, which tastes the same as flat Bass anyway.
I entered to face the table with hand wash (not the gourmet sort), and turned right where the cheerier faces sat.
“Wait ! ” said the nice barmaid. “Have you read the Wellington rules ?“
My dear readers will know I have a difficult relationship with rules, as folk in Harare. Corfu Town and the Blue Lagoon will know.
“Er, I know about the one way system ?” I said, using the Australian question format to imply my ignorance.
Name and number taken, I surveyed the range. MUCH too large, in keeping with the GBG entry.
Yes, of COURSE I went for the Doom Bar. Do you think I drink beer with apostrophes in the title just so I can get corrected by Russ, or Fullers just so I can write “The Pride is drinking well, lads“.
The Doom is, I guess, the only that Brian and his mates drink, and enough of it at £2.15 to make it an NBSS 3.5 treat. “ANOTHER 3.5. When do I get to see the plant pots ?“
Proper beer, proper bench seating, proper blokes (and a few ladies) and proper Britpop from 1982.
At the bar, Brian was complaining about the telly. Our barmaid, a polite and friendly gem, was pressing the remote furiously to the accompaniment of Abba’s “The Day Before You Came“, then scolded.
“BRIAN ! You’re standing in front of the TV; that’s why I can’t work the remote“. Brian slinked back to his Stella.
I needed the loo, and began a long journey following the arrows past the pool room to the outside smoking area.
I left the Gents by the one way system and emerged, blinking, into the sunlight behind the Wellington.
Just like at the Regal in 1986, I’d been evicted, and this time could never find my way back. Honest.
Jarvis Cocker is probably still staring out of the cover of my abandoned Big Issue into the public bar at the Wellington, just like in the lyrics of “Common People”.