That’s what separates this post from the herd.
I find a picturesque pub by the Tamar,
and tell you about the guidance on going to the Gents. You expect nothing less from me.
This is the Tamar Inn, on the banks of the, er, Tamar.
Half an hour on the GWR from Plymouth, a mile from National Trust Cotehele via the best viaduct outside Stockport;
And a picture box of a village attracting folk who’s normally be buying pasties or pashminas in Polperro.
There’s another pub, the Boot, behind that foliage, that Mrs RM insisted I tick off pre-emptively, even though it only opens evenings.
Our tick, the centre of the village (bar the massive free car park) had more rules than cricket.
But Mrs RM and I are experts now, and sanitised and checked in before standing stock still at the sign that said “Wait here“.
“Can you fill it out our own Track and Trace form, the Government one only picked up 57% last week” said an anxious man.
“Sure” said Mrs RM, as I picked up a much-used pen off a sticky table to fill out a bit of paper that was surely a bigger Covid risk.
“Sit down please” said the anxious man.
Mrs RM sat down at the nearest empty table, next to a group of unscared professionals repeating the trope about Spoons only buying beer near its Best Before Date.
“Not there ! It hasn’t been sanitised yet !” . It’s a stressful time.
A lot of fuss for half a pint of Doom Bar, albeit a nice foamy one (NBSS 3.5).
It took AGES to pay, as well.
I presume the faff is putting folk off visiting pubs, as it was quiet despite the bustle outside.
But I LIKE faff, it’s great blog material, and the instructions to use the loos were a work of art (in an alternative dystopian world).
If you follow the instructions in the right order, you get extra points.