BRAPA - THE DEVON COUNTDOWN (PART 4/8 - PUBS 31-26 : A DECENT DROP)

Such is the quality of my recent clutch of Devon pubs that as early as part 4, I can honestly say 'pretty darn decent' about five of tonight's six.

But before we get too comfortable, we'll climb a big hill with a full bladder in the Hebden Bridge of the south, skirting our way around the twee tweed wearing haunted lesbians selling artisan blackberry jam and vegan knitwear, before getting slightly lost, nearly entering the wrong pub, (the Bull Inn), and realising Google Maps has it plotted incorrectly.

31. Bay Horse Inn, Totnes

Originally supposed to be ranked 42nd, it is a clerical error on my part which sees it end up at the dizzying heights of 31st. This is the problem when you scribble the rankings in tiny text with a failing biro in a tinier notepad. This was a tale of two halves. A dreadful first half. Miserable uncommunicative staff, bland interior offering pop up pizzas and unisex toilets. Not to mention a pint of Bays Devon Dumpling which was the epitome of 'heavy going'. The improvement was sparked when the landlady's twin sister leaves in a quirky flourish involving a smuggled bag of wine. They notice my bemused expression, and soon I'm learning they are French and a bit bonkers. Mr French (not Jon) seems a sound guy, and to top it off, the pub kitten comes over to say hi and eyeball a dog trying to mind his own business, which I end up slagging off simply because I'm #TeamCat even though the dog was perfectly lovely.

30. Hind, Musbury

Another pub which recovered from a pretty dire start to achieve something better than mediocrity was this ridiculous opening houred freehouse on the bus route out of Axminster. Just to find it open was an achievement, and a two hour window on a grim Thursday lunchtime was a good a time as any. Nice as the bar room was, it was isolating, lonely and chilly. Staff so reserved, I picked up a stray pump clip for the guv'nor and return it, only for him to scurry away like a lost silverfish. Even worse are the other customers and their shit dog. One of those socially awkward duos who treat their dog like their child, even though all their dog wants is biscuits and doesn't give a fuck about either of them. Embarrassing behaviour. Them leaving to be replaced by a (slightly) more humane couple improves things, as does me returning for a second pint due to badly timed buses. This Dark Star Hophead is a big improvement on the Branscombe slop, and the barmaid notices my GBG and soon I'm (almost) chatting with the entire pub. But it had been a trial of a pub experience. She leaves to get the bus at the same time as me, and chatting to her as we brave gusty winds and rain trying to peer past an overhanging tree for the bus is probably my abiding memory.

29. Ring o' Bells, Cheriton Fitzpaine

Introducing the long-suffering Kath, other half of our intrepid evening hero Pete Langdale, for my 49th and final pub of the holiday in a pretty village so narrow and remote, that when we saw a Tesco home delivery van, you thought 'what kinda monster gets poor Tesco out here?' A Cheriton Fitzpaine monster, that's who. We enter to a well meaning but hapless uniformed young lady with an element of Emma Raducanu trying to direct you towards a dining table. Pete is nearly given a free meal. The interior is fabulously ancient and cool, but with a dining culture not at all practical for the space available, but in such a location, you can forgive them for going down this route. I find the secret sun kissed beer garden too late. The main lady is real stand out quality. The Piston Bitter from Newton St Cyrus Christie is a corker, we stay for two, last holiday pub n all that. We sit out front. Pleasant if you can ignore the flies, occasional Elvis impersonator and crows cawing in the tree. A nice pub to end on.

28. Vigilance, Brixham

From my final Pete pub to the very first, and early impressions are a bit scary as shortly after taking this photo, window-man gurns at me. But fear not, this was easily my favourite Wetherspoons of the holiday, NOT that the competition was very strong. I see Pete wolfing down breakfast and a black coffee, resplendent in Torquay away top and definitely not Coventry City, which he's got on to try and psyche out Grecian Dave who we are meeting later. I buy him a Mad Squirrel and myself an Oakham JHB. Quality on both is scintillating. Though we can't both resist a Brixham gag that may be considered 'too soon' as we hold our beers up to the light and remark "yum, tastes of cryptosporidium!" which I'm sure made us popular with the old boys on the table adjacent. A good start to what would prove to be a Sunday of variable quality.

27. Lamb, Sandford

Scary roadwalk from Crediton (Kurtan) negotiated, I'm made to sweat til 17:05 for pub opening. "Sorry I'm in flap and rushing around, been having problems with the electrics!" the loveliest landlady in mid Devon tells me. I explain I've had a different type of nightmare walking here on scary road. "You mean you didn't see the Millennium Pathway running directly parallel to the main road?" she asks in disbelief. No I didn't, but I do now. What a pub this is. Smells of Charles II armpit. 9/10 rug atop an 8.5/10 carpet. Stone bar. Wooden beams. Everything groans. She flicks on the lights. They work. But somehow the pub gets darker. GOOD. I love dark pubs. Only thing that seems incongruous is the 'Hot Fuzz' film advert at the top of the stairs. Then I remember. 'Oh yeah, Sandford, I get it!' How this pub isn't top 10 is all down to the beer. Similarly hot and fuzzy. Exmoor Fox. Yuck. Did she forget to pull it through in all the mayhem? Second worst after that Totnes Brew Co murk I don't like to talk about. A couple from New Zealand are comparing fishing notes with a couple from Taunton. The size of their pikes is the main topic. You won't be surprised to learn the NZ ones are bigger. A bloke I recognise from the last pub down in Crediton on account of his Crichton shaped head is now at the bar. 'Ya could've given me a lift!' I tell him, barmaid explaining how I didn't see the path. Time to leave, Taunton couple tell me to visit. 2029 maybe. On the way out, a lady on a bike in a luminous jacket jumps out at me. "I saw you walking along the road earlier! Did you know there's a footpath?" "Yeah yeah, so people keep telling me!" I reply, she tells me she once pushed a baby up the hill in 1999 in the rain. I grit my teeth, She laughs. End.

NZ (front) v Taunton (back)

26. Tom Cobley Tavern, Spreyton

In the grand scheme of DEWTAP (Devon Evening's With The Amazing Pete), this former CAMRA national winner was something of an anti-climax on account of its pleasant dining mediocrity, which make me wonder if this is a recent change. Has it believed its own hype? One guy I know had told me it was absolutely brilliant, another told me he wasn't impressed. The inn sign of Tom n chums is the highlight, with their many CAMRA awards emblazoned on both outer and inner walls. As we are taking outdoor photos, a male Fag Ash Lil in a woolly mustard jumper squints at me and is impressed I'm from York. "Ye know Fulford Barracks?" he asks. Depressingly yes but I didn't come to Spreyton to talk about Fulford. Inside, the star of the show is the guv'nor, a lovely man. Cornish, less Cornish sounding than our previous guv'nor but we'll get to that one. My beer is a microcosm of the pub experience. Cherry chocolate stout, but muted flavours. Our mustard sweater is back at the bar. "Ye been to Krakow?" he asks randomly. I confess I haven't. "Ye should. I prefer York, but after you've done York, go to Krakow". I remind him I live in York anyway. I ask Pete if we can sit down now please. Weird moment as I'm photographing the exciting corridor on the way from the Gents, I hear footsteps behind me and turn to apologise for blocking the corridor with my nonsense. But no one is there! The ghost of Tom Cobley? As dining pubs go, probably in top 10% pubbiest but in relation to other GBG pubs in a ten mile radius, kinda avg. Still, I remember when all Tom Cobley pubs all sold Sunday roast and had kids outside on bouncy castles. Maybe my expectations would've benefitted from being lower.

The pubs are getting good now .... join me probably Monday night when we'll really start getting into ones I'd recommend. With maybe the odd gripe for balance of course!

Si