20 minutes later Mrs RM parked up in Llanwchllyn, yet another GBG entry that starts with Ll.. just to confuse me.

Take your time” said Mrs RM. I think she’d found a WiFi hotspot.

I’d found a GBG entry open mid-afternoon in the quietest Gwynedd village imaginable. Welsh schools still in Easter holiday, Wiki calls it “one of the most sparsely populated communities in Wales“.

Zoom in and you find “flag halts”, Roman forts, country parks and a pub. Let’s focus on the pub, though I’m sure the village shop (closed) and church have their appeal.

All this solitude makes the enterprise behind Tafarn Yr Eagles (means “to the pub, Crystal Palace“) so impressive.

These outbuildings look like smoking shelters but are actually luxurious outside seating areas with view to the hills.

And the pub houses a village shop selling that household essential.

Yes, carrot scales.

When my feet step through the door, you can assume I’ll do certain things.

-Make sure the door is open before I go into it (I once forgot to do that in an ice cream parlour in Milan with disastrous results).

-Keep my ears pinned for unusual greetings like “Who are you“, “We’re closed“, “Do you have a reservation“. Here, the bell rings to alert the barman, who says “Hello“. How old school.

-Survey the wondrous choice of cask ales, and somehow make a choice from the one available.

-Engage the Landlord/barperson in polite and inconclusive banter about the weather (OK), trade (OK) and the pub’s preferred payment method. I’m sure pubs prefer to be paid in an avalanche of silver and copper in 2022.

-Nod to the other customers on the way out. They look shocked.

-Make a note of the ’80s pop for Mark Crilley and enjoy the beer (a crispy 3).

Darn. Forgot the music. Let’s assume it was China Crisis.

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