So let’s get a move on, as I did this July night as I jumped on a train to Exeter, downloading a ticket just before the Inspector called (great film).
The big question to ask Exeter is, of course, why do you have SO many suburban stations.
The plan was to raid Exeter like a Baedecker blitz and leave with 2 ticks, arriving back in Exmouth for a late pub/Chinese combo.
But as the announcements of stops in made-up places called Lympstone Commando (what ?) and Digby & Sowton continued at 2 minute intervals, I realised I’d picked the superslow train and would have 40 minutes at most to walk 2 miles and squeeze in 2 pubs. Believe.
Exeter is a curates egg, a mix of wonder and woe.
horrific central shopping street (and I’ve been to Motherwell).
The Ship is down a dark little lane that looks like it’s been borrowed from Newport (Gwent) or Weston-super-Mare; perhaps it has.
Unexpectedly basic, it’s a cultural melting pot, as the GBG once wrote of the White Lion in Walsall. Students, couples, the odd Old Boy, beams and bitter and Britpop.
I liked it a lot, but the Otter was a bit drab and I left it to die (2.5).
20 minutes later, on my way back, I would nip back into the Ship for a wee and finish that Otter, finding it mystically improved to a 3.