THE DAY THAT CORNWALL FELL

I’m still in July, which means when I bring you an excitingly pointless September Stocktake on Friday night (after IndyMan !!!!), I’ll be two and a half months behind. Perhaps my new mission is just to get to Orkney on here, and bring the Blog Map up-to-date.

The dash to the GBG finish line was more thrilling than any City title win or David Thomas Broughton gig, but the final Cornish slog from Gunnislake to Calstock could have been avoided if I’d only LISTENED TO MRS RM in 2020.

In fairness to me, staying to tick Calstock’s Boot in 2020 would have meant a 5 hour wait at the panic-stricken Tamar Inn, and in any case I enjoyed the calf-strengthening 2 mile walk uphill (both ways).

If any of you haven’t done this one yet, be advised NOT TO DRIVE.

Or, if you’re one of those tickers who doesn’t walk, get the train from Plymouth to Calstock where you’ll be deposited yards from the door.

But where’s the fun in that, with slopes like these ?

Opens 6pm” said What Pub and their own Facebook, though as the latter hadn’t been updated since last October I really should have backed up my research with at least three (3) phone calls as I did to Rousay.

My joyous bound (more a fall) down the hill was met by a closed pub at 18:01.

There was no-one about. It felt like that village in Vulgaria when the Childcatcher came to town.

I phoned. No answer.

I swore.

I actually banged on the door.

And, then, at 18:05, the light came on, the door opened.

It felt like a slightly upmarket dining pub for gentlefolk, and I wondered if the lone handpump was an affectation of Brunning & Pricey proportions.

But apparently not. No expectations of dining, a tremendous pint of Exeter Avocet to finish the county (always a bonus), “Seasons In The Sun” and “Sweet Home Alabama” your soundtrack” and a chatty landlady who clearly saw it as a quirky pub rather than a restaurant. If I think of a comparable place I’ll let you know.

The preference for cash is always A Good Thing.

The sun shone over the viaduct (on loan from Stockport); I’d cracked the southern-most GBG chapter.

Now for Devon.

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