Our next pub was just around the corner. We planned to cross
the bridge over the river then walk underneath it to avoid the road, but the
steps were flooded so we just followed the road around the corner to reach the
Wharf Inn, a pub adjacent to the river and a nearby caravan site. Inside was a
pool and games rom while a back room had the bar occupied by a few locals. I
had been here before, but it looked as if the place had taken a downward turn. There
wasn’t any beer on the handpumps so I settled for a chilled Wye Valley HPA in a
bottle. We headed out onto the terrace where the lower section had already
given way to the flooded river. Just then, the city boy decided to rugby tackle
my workmate, who went flying through the rotten wood and into the river. We
fished him back out followed by bag which would otherwise be making its maiden
voyage towards Worcester.
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