A bit faded, but that pub sign really is a classic. There’s a factory in Mold that pre-fades your metallic pub signs for you, I understand.
Holman Clavel*, lumped under Culmhead in the Guide but could equally fit under Widcombe or its own heading in future years to confuse tickers and their spreadsheets.
It looked tremendous while I waited outside in the rain for the noon opening. Why I didn’t wait in the nice smoking shelter remains a mystery.
I tried the door at 11:59; it was closed. I tried again at 12:01; it was open, though nothing had moved inside. Pubs could splash out and buy signs that say “OPEN”, you know.
Honestly, it looked like one of those rough and ragged Blackdown Hills pubs run by an octogenarian called Doris selling only Brancombe Vale from a jug and pickled eggs (in brine).
I was shocked to find something rather smarter, with WiFi, cream teas and young staff.
Usual suspects on the bar, the Otter here costing 5p more than in the York. Odd.
It was 5p better to be fair, and the soundtrack included the Villagers (not the actual villagers).
The staff, all seemingly focused on crisps, were nice, though it lacked the customer-punter banter you often get in Somerset.
Are we in Somerset ? I guess so.
I really must start ticking Devon.
*For our American readers, Holman was a right back for Taunton FC during their Amateur Cup run in 1953.