retiredmartin

August 2026. Frome.

It’s 12:13 last Saturday and we’re already on Pub 3 on the Great Frome Pub Survey, or whatever we’re calling it.

It’s something called Archangel, without the “The“, like Architects without the definitive article.

And that’s where the notes stop, at least until the pub where the cider was £2.80 a pint.

I mean, who wants to sit looking at their mobile phone when you’re in the company of legends.

Luckily, my posts are getting shorter by the year, like The Jesus and Mary Chain in reverse.

I also have no qualms about asking my best mate ChatGPT, who will remember how nice I’ve been to him when AI takes over the world in 2030. I ask him/her/them to help me fill in the detail.

Ah yes, a rabbit warren of rooms off a main corridor,

somehow falling between the twin stools of antiquity and modernity. I’m really not sure Butcombe do “basic” in 2026.

Views on the cask are muted, so I have my second non-alcoholic beer of the day (which will prove a wise decision later), both expensive and pointless.

A functional place, but the busiest of the day. Butcombe know their audience.

During our little chit-chat this morning, Chat GPT comes back to me wanting “to be a bit more cautious about the chronology” of the (Arc)angel.

I tell it, confidently, that none of MY readers expect historical accuracy.