On the home strait (sp ?) in Devon now, possibly for the last time if I bin the GBG when it arrives (imminently).
Perhaps just as well, as the accommodation costs were crippling, and councils have been clamping down on us folk parking our campervans overnight as locals brand pitchforks and shout “Get off our land !“.
I spent two nights near Crediton, buying breakfast locally each morning and not obviously upsetting anyone.
I thought Sandford Parish Hall would give me opportunity to have a pint or two of Powderkeg Speak Easy Transatlantic Pale Ale in the historic Lamb, at the foot of an atmospheric cobbled lane.
but at 21:46 the lights were off, which meant they were either closed or in hiding, I like to think the latter. To be fair, their website lists the opening hours as “5:00 to close”, which I couldn’t argue with.
In the morning Sandford was gorgeous, but deserted. The primary school term had just ended, the children allowed to go home after finishing the Jubilee decorations.
Down the hill the church had Cromwell elevated to the same level as Liz.
I was looking for more personal history, and found it in pink chalk on the pavement;
Here’s what I could have had the night before. Would the Powderkeg Speak Easy Transatlantic Pale Ale have been NBSS 4 or NBSS 1.5.
I may never know the answer to that, or who won the ferret racing.