Things are really hotting up now as we visit six pubs which I wouldn't have to be dragged back to kicking and screaming.
It'd be a waste of my time if I did return to them, but I guess if they build a new micropub next door and I've got time to kill, it wouldn't be the worst thing in world.
25. Bicton Inn, Exmouth
"Best pub in Exmuff by a mile" tweets X to a man/woman. On today's evidence, I agree. Certainly the most pleasant space to drink in. Bare boards, a nice large box shape, unpretentious, bit of stained glass and worn wood. But like my entire Exmouth Day One (EDO), I had gripes. Most pertinently, the piped music played at a volume so loud, you could hear it from the bottom of the street. Astonished to arrive and find one rather glum barfly and barmaid blinking back at me, thought I'd arrived at #PartyTime. Those tunes that sound like they've come straight from a SeeTheLizards 'Wine, Western, Wotsits' TDK cassette tape ain't so bad, but the Weeknd, not so enjoyable. Hanlon Citra sounds a light fruity drop, so why is it like a pint of Best Bitter? And why is glum barfly not washing his hands after a wee? Yuck. I pull the door handle from upper most point. Bonus late on when Colin's fan from the Powder Monkey wanders in, and over for a five minute chat, leaving his mate alone at the bar. Mate scowls at me when I return my glass, barmaid grunts. Really a pub that should've done better.
24. Palk Arms, Hennock
One thing that me and Pete were saying was missing from our DEWTAP (Dartmoor Evenings with The Amazing Pete) adventure was an American Werewolf in London / Don't Go Onto the Moors style pub. Careful what you wish for! I can't recall in BRAPA history such a level of contempt for my very presence radiating off staff and locals. Warning signs were there from the moment we park in the narrow village, I wave at a young beardo taking the bins out. He gives me a look of utter hatred. I struggle with the pub latch. Everyone is staring. I explain I've made a tit of myself already. No one disagrees. Not even in a laughy jokey way. "Wait til you try and pick up the 50p, then you'll be even more of a tit" slurs a local in Devon drawl, alluding to a coin stuck to the floor to try and trip up tourists. Has a pub ever hated visitors more than this place? Part of the problem is our cheerfulness (borne out of brilliant staff experiences in our last two pubs at Spreyton and North Tawton). "Looking a bit dympsy out" says the barman trying too hard to be Devon. "Ooh I know her!" I giggle, then immediately sense daggers in the back of my head. Pete asks where the amazing view from the back window is, and with some relief, they direct us to back room. Pete finds a guide to Devon dialect and learns dympsy is a sort of misty evening gloam / twilight. I'm desperate to know if the pub is pronounced 'Pork' Arms but am a bit wary to ask now. An approachable couple playing cards might know the answer ... but they aren't English, never mind local, hence why they are approachable I guess. I pluck up courage to ask a woman at the bar. She confirms it is pronounced as it is spelt, Palk. Not the answer I want .... anti-climax! On the way out returning our glasses, we joke about picking up that 50p piece. No one laughs. Lovely pub though if you ignore the people, which you obviously can't.
Pete checks for dympsyness
23. Horse & Groom, Bittaford
The most astonishing quote of the week was delivered at this impressive, imposing roadside boozer when a Guinness rep stands up, triumphantly announcing the completion of a £41M Premier League deal to his audience of three - me and the bar lad and not forgetting Blaze the pub parrot. I'd shoehorned the chat towards the Championship on account of supporting Hull City. You ready for what he said? Brace yourself. "I have no doubt that Wayne Rooney will get Argyle into the Premier League but it is keeping them there that is going to be the struggle". My jaw hits the floor. Blaze says 'Sorry?' The barman, a nervy character who doesn't like being visible behind the bar does that Homer Simpson in the hedge GIF and sort of slides backwards. Guinness rep cheerfully packs up his laptop and leaves, nearly strangling himself on his lanyard, barman never reappears, Blaze whistles a bit, leaving me alone in a pub that can be commended on account of carpet and throwback vibes, but I don't feel entirely at ease throughout.
22. Two Mile Oak Inn, Abbotskerswell
I really felt that the blue touch paper was lit on my epic Devon holiday when the bus plonks me here on the main road, just south of Newton Abbot, 12 noon on day two, shaking off the shackles of my difficult day one in Exmouth. They have me sweating though, the only open entrance is around the back - one of those 'expect everyone to arrive by car' gaffs. A foodie pub you can't deny, but one of such exciting shape, historic smells, and a cheerful gooey faced army of female staff to greet you, it is impossible not to enjoy. The first of many excellent pints from the stillage, the Exmoor drinks superbly. Enter Bob. I'm in his regular seat. His female companion asks if I can move. I realise pretty quickly that the unsaid story here is that Bob has dementia and sitting in his familiar place is helpful for him. She is a bit of a UK traveller herself so we soon get chatting Sussex, Kent and Hants. Bonnie arrives for some tomato and basil soup. Then Connie arrives. Time to leave before Donny Osmond appears.
21. King's Arms, Buckfastleigh
My abiding memory of this solid understated inn at the heart of the village is how much like a club it felt, but without any of the regular pain points of gaining access, showing yer CAMRA credentials, spending a penny in a tin etc etc. Even our livewire host has more of a 'steward' air' than anything guv'nor, publican, barman or landlord shaped. I arrive with the horrid taste of that Totnes Brew Co dross (which I don't like to talk about) reverberating around my tastebuds. I need something edgy. I'm looking in vain for Buckie on cask, then scanning the fridges for bottles, when he recommends me Shark Island Stout. Ohhh yes, pint of the holiday contender. If Buckfast gets you fucked fast, Shark Island makes you smile and .... (errrm other stuff). I recline on the lounge lizard leather settees, listening to the distant clanking of pool balls from the front bar, admire the 8/10 carpet, and learn how JR Dickenson had her worst ever (glowing) Chinese takeaway in Buckfastleigh (blue plaque needed?), but the only numbers I'm memorising are 38 and 88 (the bus numbers, not sweet n sour pork balls or egg fried rice) as time is ticking on.
20. Tally Ho, Littlehempston
Descending from the bus stop onto the main road, over winding lanes and a trickly stream gave me my first taste of the beauty that Devon possesses. But nerves are soon a-janglin' as I spy that enemy of the pub ticker - the funeral cortege. 'Don't you dare have the pub booked a la Altarnun ya bastards' I'm willing (silently of course, might sound harsh to those who've recently lost a loved one) and to my relief, I don't see another morbid suit once I'm inside. Service is slow as the end of the lunch rush is dealt with, but I can forgive anything here as it is clear I'm in the presence of a great well run old pub, you cannot knock it. Even sitting with my back to the action (not my default position as it makes photos and observation near impossible), I'm still a fan. Even more so when I try to access the pub WiFi password, ironically 'Just talk to each other' but the unusual spacing stymies me. The bloke sat below the blackboard displaying said password is a regular, he is used to this query, so helps me out. But I then don't need it because we get chatting for the rest of my half hour. Next week, he is off to my hometown of York soon to pick up a rare American cat that's being shipped over from France! As RetiredMartin wisely points out, 'this is why we love pub ticking!'
So there's six to add to your lists if you've not been, don't think any will disappoint. And we still have 19 even better ones (according to my untechnical ranking) to come!
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