I woke to the sound of birds urging me westwards into the mysterious lands of East (or is it West, forgot my compass) Devon on an 8th day of South-West ticking this crazy summer. Mrs RM wanted me home to mow the lawn before another of those infernal house viewings, but this was BUSINESS.
Baa Baa Toure may not have his own instagram like Colin the Cauliflower does, but he’s a reliable companion who never keeps me waiting when on the move.
His was a questionable look as I parked up in Newton Poppleford‘s free car park at the church sounded 12.
Nothing particularly thrilling about Newton. “Good soil” says Wiki. One the River Otter, say I, depriving you of a chance to earn 5 points.
The Cannon has a “Lease for Sale” sign up, always worrying.
But it’s open, with a bloke in a Hawaiian shirt in already, a cheery welcome and only the yellow tape suggest a murder scene (the murder of relaxed pubgoing I guess).
Calm down, it’s just a sign.
Oh, here’s something worrying.
You know my views on beer festivals. I ignored the (decent) list and went for the Butcombe behind the bar.
No-one inside, it being Summer today, so I followed the Hawaiian shirt outside to a delightfully cluttered garden with all the facilities needed to lose a slightly out-of-condition Butcombe (NBSS 2) without being noticed.
Goodness me, I like clutter. Just not THIS sort of clutter.
Next up, Conservatives and Doom Bar, a marriage made in heaven.