One for the purist now. This was West Devon’s equivalent of the Queen’s Head, Newton or any number of paths on the Welsh border.
An exemplar country pub, almost worth the journey through terrifying lanes for a leisurely half.
No idea where it is. My trusty Navigator was in unknown territory now. The OS extract is little better, but at least it’s the right way up.
Nice tin sign, hiding behind a hedge.
As is traditional, I entered through the wrong door, into the empty dining room.
For half a pint of Exmoor Stag, where did I do this before.
It’s gorgeous, innit?
The Landlord was either used to it, or expected it from me, as I was met with a smile and a request to stand away from the bar.
But there were couples drinking in, and couples in leather hats drinking out, and I really should have brought Baa Baa Toure for company.
I joined the leather hat brigade on the bench outside, and enjoyed an NBSS 3+ Teignworthy.
My notes says “Like the other Duke of York”.
For a half of Doom, which Duke was I thinking of ?