The Welsh Wander lurched from Dylan Thomas land to the frankly undistinguished bit between Carmarthen and Llanelli.
Five pubs for me (and you) here, and some seaside, and a cat.
And Mrs RM’s lovely arm. Mrs RM was pleased to veer off the A48 towards the Smiths Arms in Foelgastell, or however you say it.
“Ideal stop for visitors to the National Botanic Gardens” enthuses What Pub, but as you’ll know I’m terrified of gardens as Mrs RM will expect me to do something on ours.
Most of the folk in the pub were there for the Welsh Chicken (actually rebadged dragon) and it took a minute to get served at the bar.
But am I inpatient ? (“Yes” – Mrs RM).
Now, if you’re going to have one pump on (good), make sure it’s a well-known brand that Derek (Age 67) will recognise. Or he’ll move over to That Madri.
Oops. Sticky tables, sticky beer. It wasn’t bad, to be fair. Branded glass, too !
But the only reason to come if you’re not dining or ticking is this fella.
You can name him/her/whatever if you wish.