The end of the Welsh Wander, on a gorgeous day that started with avocado smash at the wonderful Parc Pantry in Malpas.
I bet you didn’t think you could even get avocado smash in suburban Newport, did you, let alone that it looked like this;
Chepstow is practically England, but it never feels quite as affluent as Monmouth, and on this gorgeous January morning the High Street was bare.
So was this bloke, waiting for the micro to open.
If there’d been anyone around I’d have asked why the gun is permanently aimed at the card shop.
I guess there’s worry it’ll be converted into a micro called Cask Factory or summat.
There’s a decent churn of GBG entries, each of them feeling like the Norwich City of the Guide, bright and breezy and about to be relegated.
I LOVED the Five Alls. What happened to that ?
Instead we have the Three Tuns with view to the castle and a tent.
Nice castle, mind.
Nice enough pub, though I nearly knock myself out as my glasses steam up immediately on entering and I walk into the table where you sign in.
“What can I get you ?” asks the lady, oblivious to the fact I can’t see my hand, let alone the bar.
She sympathises about masks and glasses, and pours an 11am half of NBSS 2.5 Wye Valley that takes me within one pub of finishing Gwent (the last one is in somewhere called Nant-y-Derry, which sounds like a Watford full back).
An odd but not unwelcome GBG debutant; perhaps a soundtrack of “Black Velvet” and “Take On Me” scores extra points here in Chepstow.
And if you ARE going to accept table bookings (and you really shouldn’t), then this literal measure is pretty much perfect.