Some excellent guesses, all wrong, for that Guess the Pub.
I was, of course, in the Blue Peter In Kirkcolm near Stranraer, staring across at the ferry to Ireland.
We stuck the campervan on the site of the old RAF base and toddled into the village (pop. not many).
The only facility in the village, and Mrs RM had wisely booked. We hoped.
Entering to the strains of “In the navy”, we debated whether the table laid out for two was ours.
Then I saw a handpump, turned round, and considered the devil’s choice. Tennents or Guinness.
But the pump was only turned round so the landlord could read it, and a Jolly Beggars from Ayr was the beer of the day (faint praise, if I’m honest).
A trad menu too.
Proper mushy peas there. Not surprisingly the landlord comes from Queensbury, Bradford, and calls a spade a shovel.
It was far too quiet. Even we were whispering so as not too upset the gentlefolk diners, but for Scotland it was pubby enough.
And Baa Baa was thrilled, making friends with the cows and sheep in this remote community.
And sometimes, Baa Baa is the best judge of these things.
No winner*, so the Doom Bar prize fund rolls over to the next quiz.
*oh sorry, its Bill !