There’s a lot of misery about, isn’t there ?
Not at the Rising Sun in Gunnislake, there isn’t.
One of SEVEN Cornish ticks for me on this trip, just an unspoilt boozer in the tradition of Cwmbran’s Bush or the Brown Bear in Braughing.
Views from the hillside Gents (and Ladies) were a bit more Gwent than Hertfordshire, though. Nice fairy houses, says Mrs RM, who’s quite a connoisseur of these things.
If it wasn’t for the handwash, QR codes and the inability to read the pumps you’d think Cornwall had avoided Covid completely.
A jovial landlord did the table service thing with the air of a man who knew we’d all rather be at the bar, bless him.
I’ll guess this was Dartmoor Legend that Mrs RM had (NBSS 3+), because it’s as safe a bet as guessing you had Oakham Citra in Peterborough. I was getting a bit sick of J20s (passionfruit, since you ask) by now.
Whatever. Nearly all the tables were full of middle-aged folk (oh, it’s us I guess) and the Rising Sun rang with laughter.
“All I’ll say is if you swim with sharks prepare to get stung“
“I TRY to avoid dogfish“
It was a reminder of why we go to pubs, and it’s not for beer.
As we left, a chap with a Scouse accent apologised for being from Liverpool. The pub was that good, I forgave him.