“Is he STILL writing about Devon ?!”
Not much more, then I can return to a Holt’s pub in Manchester and street art in Hartlepool (honest), which I expect you’ll prefer.
Devon can be a bit samey, but like Essex quality was pretty consistent, and the welcome genuine (with one exception).
None more so than the Bell in Parkham, hidden in a gaggle of lanes south of Bideford.
Actually, the pub’s own picture is better. It was SPOTLESS inside, by the by.
This is the place that seemed to promise a 10am opening, mecca for pub tickers, and caused a rather stilted phone call that left me unsure whether that promised would be realised on Saturday morning.
“Are you the gentleman who phoned last night to
harass our young lady ask about opening ?” she smiled.
I offered that I was, and gave the young lady a terrifying look of contrition.
Seems they’re doing breakfast (with beer) for a small army of housebuilders on the edge of the village.
They’d only just opened up inside, but found me the best seat in the pub, from where I could see the bar (and the kitchen). Not that much was happening at 10:02.
Reader, I had the works.
Well, the all day breakfast with coffee and half a cool, foamy Otter in an Estrella glass. Just as God intended.
I cannot lie; it did my diet no good at all but lifted my spirits even higher than usual, if such a thing is possible.
Kids, don’t have one of those EVERY days. Five time a week is plenty.
The Landlady popped by for a chat, confirmed that Monday to Wednesday were the new weekend with the Rishi discount, and told me the heart-warming tale of Georgie the Pub Cat‘s survival in the fridge.
“He doesn’t look too happy about that in that picture” I said, but just as that moment he came in, saw my empty plate, and kept walking.