
22nd October 2022.
I stopped for the night in Cullompton (pop. 7,439). Someone has to.

They don’t exactly illuminate the GBG, but the market towns off the M5 between Bristol and Exeter have some real pub gems, and more importantly cheap B&Bs and places you can leave your campervan overnight and wake up to it still having 4 wheels. Though that said, when I last visited Cullompton in 2020 it was with one of those wheels fast deflating.
Tonight, the town lifts the soul.

These are actual scale models of the residents celebrating their 2-0 win over Bemerton Heath Harlequins in the FA Vase.

I know someone who’s been to see Cullompton. And Bemerton Heath Harlequins.

I hope the Bemerton Heath players had time to nip in the Pony & Trap before their horse and carriage took them home along the A303 to west Salisbury.

I entered to the sounds of some cutting-edge indie track it took Shazam 0.303 seconds to identify.
Now I’ve completed the Guide I can afford to revisit pubs like this, possibly on the premise I’m ticking the Wickingman’s Bass list.

Far too many hand pumps, and that Otter Head might almost have distracted me from the One True Path but Ian would have been disappointed if I’d failed to sample the Bass (NBSS 3+, chilled, pleasant).

It’s a great little community pub, heaving in the Golden Hour.
I got the last table, a bit squashed between two regulars, and felt like I was going to be attacked at any moment by canines.

So I didn’t linger.
But I’ll pop back, if only to sample Lord(s) Fudgies Fudge And Little Cully Cafe.

The bloke who runs it is an ACTUAL Lord, you know. He works part-time in a chippie in Willand.
We’ve a few too many of these here “lords”.
Peer of the Realm?
Pee-er on the Realm more like.
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…and “ladies”, eh, Ms Mone?
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Just buying a lump of land in Scotland doesn’t make you a Lord. Otherwise I’d be one.
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Lord Bill, then.
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That would be nice. But I’m not a Lord. I’d know if I was. I’d have some kind of special hat. I have moved among Lords though. Had pleasant conversations with the Duke of Westminster, the Duke of Roxburgh and the Earl of Lichfield, who scrounged a fag off me.
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Fudgies – not thirty miles from Drewsteignton they must be relatives
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I’d be more impressed if you found Colin Crompton.
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Or Colin Dredge. Met him too.
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