Two days around Great Torrington, the centrepiece of the mass of villages with long names in Torridge District.
Loads of pinking to do there, not none in Torrington (just below Weare Giffard on the GBG map), where I pitched my campervan for the night overlooking the leper fields of Taddiport.
Quite a view from the campervan, much enjoyed by Baa Baa and an increasing number of frustrated youths. We will find out the reason for their frustration soon.
But first, and it embarrasses me to admit this, a bus trip to the Cyder Presse in Weare Giffard.
Be warned. You’re safer on foot. Watching cars reverse into tiny drives to avoid the oncoming Number 75 is enough to put you off buses for life (see also : the whole of the Isle of Wight).
On the upside, the bus returned to Torrington 30 minutes later. Ideal. Unless I missed it, in which case the next bus was today.
Just a typical village pub on Friday evening. Children with dads, blokes starting on the strongest cider, plans arranged for the big trip to Bideford on Saturday.
I waited patiently for a few minutes for the Otter to be changed, but at the last minute thought
“I’m in the cider pub of the year, in Devon, why don’t I have a cider ?”
Following the ground-breaking 18th session of the Pub Tickers Council (Carluke, 2008), cider is accepted as a tick in a GBG pub as long as you stand on one leg and hum “Combine Harvester” at the bar.
But they were all those bag-in-a-box Lilley’s flavoured ciders; are they even real ? Don’t answer.
I ended with a half of the Tropical one, and whatever my ecumenical reservations about flavoured cider I loved it.
Back in “town” 40 minutes later I suddenly realised the night was still young and my ticking was done, which almost rhymes,
As ever, I turned to Twitter for advice;