Devon.

We stayed at The Barn again. Brilliant little place, ideal for us. But all the time we were there we’d  be saying things along the lines of ; “I’d move that wall, there, reposition the bathroom, knock a hole though here, and built and extension on there.” So ideal, but could be made so much better. (Oh the old hippes who own the place, Chris and Ruth, would be ideal neighbours and are very good people.)

What a fine place for pubs Devon is.

Just down the road from us was the Peter Tavy Inn, we ate there one night. I have to say I had THE best pint of the trip there, “Three Hares Honey Ale” It was better than Brains in Wales, better than Doom Bar in Cornwall, better than the Jail Ale at The Elephant’s Nest.  The sort of pub which would be a dream “local.” Not much of a bar area though, so more gastro than pub. Friendly service, and a great range of single malts there, all added to its appeal. I got into quite an animated/heated discussion at the bar with a guy who was wearing  “West Ham” football kit, god only knows why. The topic? “Whether or not single malts deserve their status as better than a good blended whiskey.” I won.

God I miss decent pubs.

Oh bugger , just when I thought I was sold on moving within staggering distance of the Peter Tavy Inn,  we then went to The Elephant’s Nest. The Ele’s a real gastro pub, which does both gastro and pub very well. The food is outstanding, I had hake with Welsh rarebit on top! But the atmosphere there makes the night, the very friendly bar bloke was a hoot, (though the owner is a bit of a grump.) It’s definitely worth a trip into the wilds for. Our favourite Inn on Dartmoor, without doubt, and the pub I would most like to live within walking/staggering/pissing distance of. Or is it? More on this later.

Lee-Anne’s amazment at how dogs are allowed in pubs, cafes etc in the UK, was compounded by the pub dog, a huge shaggy beast of ill-defined ancestry. It was which was not only in the pub, but wandered the tables meeting and greeting. Well meeting and greeting anyone who had had a plate of grub delivered to their table anyway.

I must admit, my freedom to eat cheese on this holiday did lead to my over indulging in it  somewhat. At our second night at the Elephant’s Nest, I was on the verge of ordering; “Baked Portobello mushroom and blue cheese”, followed by “Hake with Welsh Rarebit topping”, followed by the cheeseboard.  Luckily there was no cheesecake on offer. Lee-Anne pointed out the lunacy of this, I changed my main dish.

We stopped off at The Plume of Feathers in Princetown after walking at Haytor with Cam and Pete. Odd experience. The food was grand, very “old school” pub grub, but so well cooked as to be fantastic. Or maybe we were just famished after a couple of hours tramping about in the rain? It was well worth the money, not a bad pint beer either, Jail Ale again. The Dartmoor Brewery at Princetown claims to be the “highest Brewery In England”, which is an endearingly odd claim to fame. But the most weird thing about the Plume was that it was full of the town residents, most of whom work at Dartmoor Nick, so it was a bit like being at a BNP social gathering.

The Old Inn at Widecombe was a letdown. We’d had fine grub and a great pint the last time we were there.  We opted for the “fish plank”, after having the “vegetarian plank” the last visit. The food was all out of a deep fryer, and it was ready made / bulk buy frozen stuff. I had a piece of fish that was all batter and no fish. The beers were not great. A shame the last time we visited we were very impressed, this time it seemed rather sterile and lacking any care in the food. But there you go, it gave the other places some perspective.

We threw a party at the barn. Lee-Anne cooked up a storm of three curries, plus breads, plus deserts. I did some side dishes. We had Mike, Belinda, Nick, Susie, Nicol, Jen, from Devon, and also Pete, Cam down from Weston, over for a meal and wine.

Most of us are lapsed veges, funny thing how that happens, though Nicol and Jen are still true to the cause. Bloody good night too.  It brought home to me how much I miss socialising with the old crowd. Any old fucking crowd.

We also had  a lovely meal over at Nicol and Jen’s, with Mr N dishing up his culinary specialty, Hommity Pie. I must have a crack at it someday, it’ll go well with fish. 🙂

While we were at the Barn, Lee-Anne got this e-mail from her boss.

Hi Lee-Anne

 So….  If I were to offer you Senior Manager through until 24 December (at this stage), you’d say yes???  ( I have complete faith in your skills – you just have to play mum and make the kiddies do all the work)

 Are you OK with me negotiating a start date?  Or would you prefer a week or two of JACS insanity before you came to play at CMTD?

  If you’re back in the Country, give me a call,  alternatively, flick me an email as to whether a) you still want the job; and b)if your happy to start ASAP for whatever date I can wrangle.

Yes, she got offered promotion. While out of the country, and on holiday.

Oh god we did some fine walks. Kudos goes to Mr Nicol here, who loaned me his membership card for a local “Go Outdoors” shop. Not only were prices there cheap as chips compared to Aus, but his card got me even more (20%!!) cash off. The new hiking boots I bought are like slippers to wear, yet support my fucked ankles totally. The nearest I’ve found to the boots which I bought for less than £80.00 there, are £140.00 here in Aus. I owe you one Nicol.

So where did we hike?

Around Staple Tor area.

Around Merrivale and King Tor

Around Hey Tor and Hound tor, twice.

Around Sheepstor and Cuckoo rock.

Over Leather tor, in wind so strong we could hardly move forward against it.

Up to Cox tor, three times on my own.

Down to Lydford Gorge . It was Nicol’s idea to do the gorge, as it was just down the road from us. Nicol  and Jenny had stayed overnight with us at the barn, and it was so great to have their company again. But a sure sign that he’s becoming soft in his old age, is that, not only do he and Jenny own a dog now, but he’s a member of the national trust! Nicol that is, not the dog.

 

Ok, I’m taking the piss a bit here, but Nicol expects that. The sense of idea of joining the national trust was put in perspective by two things

A) The sheer beauty of Lyford gorge, which in all my years of living in the are I’d never seen.

B) The number of NT properties we saw, or passed near, which I would have happily have visited if we had a membership.

So I’ll give Nicol a pass on that one.

Out on the moor for a stomp, with good friends, preferably in the drizzle and rain, bliss. For some reason that is such a great joy to me, it gives me such a feelings of belonging, timelessness, inner meaning, and other mystical bollocks, (ever read any of my poems on the subject?) I even told Lee-Anne at one point; “You’ll be lucky to see me this happy  anywhere else.” I was wrong of course, but, again, more on this later.

One night up on Cox Tor, trying and failing to get a good shot of the sunset, (I should have gone HDR,) I met up with and had a chat with a paraglider pilot, Hugo,  who had just had a bimble down the hill. We chatted on flying, on the farmer who owns the land hereabouts and had threatened to shoot paraglider pilots for scaring his sheep, and people in the scene we knew. He knew Nicol, who is of course, a veteran member of the flying scene in Devon. So nice to chat with a complete stranger and find common ground, I don’t do that much out here.  I didn’t have the guts to ask for a lone of his glider though.

Cities towns villages

We visited Plymouth, I had the best pasty of the trip there, a cheese and mushroom one. Plymouth was pretty much unchanged, and I still have a fondness for the place, even if it is a bit rough. I spent some profoundly life-changing times here, and made some life long friends, so I’m bound to hold it in affection. Captain Jaspers is still going down at the Barbican, thankfully, so we had a cuppa there. There’s a bloody big Ferris wheel on the  top of the hoe, we took a ride. Lovely to get an alternative view of the city, and out to sea. Shame the weather was so shite that day.

Exeter has changed loads, I managed to get lost twice there. Didn’t recognise a damn thing. Luckily I found the cathedral, which is too bloody big even for me to lose.

Spent a jolly half hour photographing the place, some nice shots too. It’s enough to make me turn religious Exeter cathedral, so we were about to leave sharpish, when some kids started singing in the main alter area. Bloody Nora, it was good. They were rehearsing for a performance of “Noye’s Fludde”, which was happening later that month. Took me back to the days when I used to skive off college in Exeter and go listen to the choir rehearsals there.

We also visited the other religious place which I hold dear, Brentor Church.

On the day we were there, it was howling down. So crap for pictures, but due to this, an even more essentially spiritually reawakening place. Oh don’t worry, I’m not going to start  praising the lord, worshiping Jesus, burning witches and hating homosexuals, but there is, just maybe, a little spark of soul inside this flint hard heart.

Luckily, if less about spiritual bollocks, we found a Waitrose in Exeter. Lee-Anne had been itching to find one of these, as they sold stuff by Heston, our culinary hero. This tale has a sad end. We bought stacks of Heston’s nuts (ooh err missus!) to take back as gifts, and a handful of his ready meals. One of the things we got was Heston’s truffle macaroni cheese.  We got back to the barn and heated it up for our supper. Half an hour after eating it, Lee-Anne went a funny green colour and then exploded, from both ends. It must have had goats cheese in it, she’s allergic to goats cheese.

Tavi was still as middle English as ever. I still love the place too. The cheese board at the Peter Tavy in had been supplied by a shop in the pannier market, I sought it out. Oh my god, I could have handed over all our travel money there. However, one thing you cannot get for love nor money in Tavi is giant cous cous. (Don’t ask.)

Oakhampton castle looks exactly the same today as when Turner painted it back in 1823. I only know this as having seen his painting of it in the recent Turner exhibition in Canberra, I was convinced he had  fucked it up, or photoshopped it or something. So  dragged Lee-Anne up the castle in the pouring rain, just to prove I was wrong.