Closing in on Devon now, and some glorious Dartmoor countryside that had I spent any time exploring I’d be sharing with you now.
I’d walked the eponymous gorge a couple of times, most recently in 2020 when Covid restrictions (didn’t know gorges could catch Covid) meant Mrs RM only had to walk a third of the site, to her unbridled delight.
This time I only had time to stare wistfully at the castle and wonder if it would ever achieve its true station in life as a micropub.
Odd place, Lydford. One long street, signs of quirkiness,
The most important sign is the one with clear opening times.
Now, Mrs RM had chastised me for not popping in the Castle Inn a decade ago when we first walked the gorge; I remember all her chastisements and write them down in a pink folder, in crayon.
She was right, should have visited back then; to be honest, perhaps we did.
I’d arrived at 09:30, in time for breakfast, if not a beer.
I went to the bar to pay for my mushrooms on toast (NMoTSS3.5).
“Anything else, Sir ?“
“No chance of a beer, is there ?”. I was pushing my luck, with the sign outside 11 and the website saying 12.
But following a mini conference (no-one in a hotel is allowed to know when the bar is open) I was told “10:00”. Blimey, that’s only five minutes !
So I added a half of Proper Job to the bill (a wild guess, it’s a St Austell house), and weaved my way to the bar via the loos.
Oh, actually it was Tribute, hope I don’t owe them 7p or anything.
A cool and chewy Tribute, too (NBSS 3.5), and despite feeling like the irritation I clearly was I enjoyed my private visit.
OK. no-one really believes they throw darts over the diners’ heads, but the old adverts for cattle are clearly genuine, and that’s only five (5) scatter cushions in three feet of space.
It could have been a lot worse.