October is always an exciting time for us hardy band of GBG tickers. New stuffed mascot embedded into the team, new year’s Guide in hand, cross-checking complete, inroads into the GBG with pink marker in hand.
Not this year.
The delayed release of GBG21, due to some spurious reason or other (probably a debate about mandating autovacs), means I’ve had an extra 6 weeks to press on with GBG20.
I finished the county in Clevedon (pop. 21,281), perhaps the first time this modest coastal town has made history since the famous tied tug-of-war contest with neighbouring Portishead in 1948.
I’d only been once, a decade ago, when the boys enjoyed the marine lake and rocks designed to make your mum go “BOYS ! BE CAREFUL !“.
They’re cleaning up the lake at the moment, it’s 5 metres deep in places apparently,
but the walks round the rocks remain, as rugged as ever.
and across the mud flats to the retirement homes of Weston-super-Mare.
As is now customary, I then got told off.
NOT for dawdling at the bar, but for attempting to sneak onto the Grade I listed pier 30 seconds after last admission. James outed me to the lady in charge. The traitor.
Clevedon surprised me. The streets nearest the pier are smarter than you’d expect having visited Weston and Burnham and Portishead. Antiques, wine tasting, weddings and crafty micro, And this quaint water fountain.
The Fallen Tree has kept me waiting, only opening again last week under new ownership.
5pm openers are a sod, but I guess open pubs are better than closed ones so let’s not moan.
Classy, clean, cool cask, chatty. An old regular made his first return visit since March and shouted his name to the guvnor.
“Oh, good name“
“With an “i” “
Sorry to any Marty’s out there.
Look how impressed Baa Baa Toure is with my pinking of Somerset (top).