We’d arrived at the Old Beams, a stunning timber house with a traditional front lawn beer garden. Luckily, I managed to avoid a round as the glazed one went straight onto the whisky served by an indifferent young bartender. We sat outside soaking up the sun and chatted to some of the locals about our intentions today. My friend suddenly wanted us to sup up as two others were expected to join us, and rather than get them to stop here, our new plan was to hi-jack the taxi and drop us all off at the next pub. This would save our shoes and a bit of walking as it was still wet. We’d now arrived at the Red Lion and had a bit of a wait to be served as we waited for various barrels to be changed. Then we sat in the rear garden underneath a terrace and tried to come up with a plan for the rest of the day.
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