I was a bit pubbed out by the time I arrived back in Exmouth for my twelfth (12th) Devon tick of the day. Some folk think this is fun, but it’s very stressful, I can tell you.
If I didn’t squeeze in the Holly Tree before closing, I’d have to come back another day,
ruining months of meticulous planning.
At least I had those animals carved into thatched suburbia to calm me on my power walk,
deep into Withycombe a mile north of town.
I actually phoned the Holly Tree up to see if they would really be open till 10, and the response suggested that midnight would be OK, but you never can tell.
BUT I find pubs advertising meat raffles at 3:30 CAN be trusted, whatever you think of the decor.
Six locals sitting round the bar were cheery and friendly enough, but I never feel inclined to join them, in case I actually am still there at midnight, and my Crispy Beef lies cold and uncollected at Silver Sea.
So I just listened in to a bewildering conversation about 144 conversation and razor blades and “Frankie” by Sister Sledge. The conversation made no sense, but it was my 12th pub of the day.
The Proper Job was the least good of the day, a shame, but an hour later I was tucking in to a meal of almost Chung Hwa standards.
I only have 2,344 Chinese takeaways left to tick, you know.