I’m home in Sheffield today, almost forgot what it looks like, and would have brought you one of those beer smellier descriptions of the Sam Smiths Stingo (which I always confuse with Spingo) I bought from Dram Shop last night,
but Mrs RM drank it in 8 minutes (one minute per ABV) while I wasn’t looking so all I can say is she enjoyed it, and that’s all that matters.
So I’ll press on with the July reports, now I’ve grabbed your attention with the Bass tat at the Avon Inn. Bing Maps reckons there’s two of them in Avonwick in the South Hams, and if there are then let’s hope that BRAPA goes to the wrong one.
It’s always instructive to refer to Wikipedia to find out your facts about a place, but sadly the best I can offer you is this;
“Avonwick has about 120 houses in the main village and has rapidly grown in size over the last few years, with three developments adding 17 houses in the late 1990s, 7 houses in 2000 and 33 houses in 2012.“
You can see most of the village in this one shot;
The pub was bustling mid-week, the usual trio of Old Boys skilfully blocking my view of the bar, and as you’re not legally allowed to just ask for “a pint of your strongest cask ale” while doing the international sign of the handpump I had to edge close enough to see the Dartmoor IPA so that the Old Boys turned round to signal their displeasure at my intrusion.
It’s a gorgeous pub, even if the breweriana was bought as a job lot from Wrexham.
A stunning week for my Devonian dawdle, so I joined the custom in the garden. Pub gardens with play houses AND tractors should get an extra 0.5 NBSS.
Sadly, the Dartmoor was tired and my sole note says “diacetyl“, which for those of you who aren’t beer smelliers means “taste of honey“.
I think I’ll stick to “tired”.