Here we are in pre-Brexit Britain, and what a state they are in…
As visitors, we’ve listened with a sympathetic ear, and then dulled the pain and propped up the economy by making sizeable contributions to the beer and hospitality industry.
On the Brexit front, conversations participated in and overheard have left the impression that regular folks are exhausted, disappointed with leadership, and baffled and bewildered by what might (or might not) happen next. With the deadline a mere two weeks away, it appears uncertainty rules the land.
We’ve been happily catching up with friends and family, and happily staying in pubs and forcing ourselves to drink a variety of on tap beers. The Bird in Hand, a pub dating back to the early 1700s, was our first rest stop, and it was delightful. Brasses on the wall, black and white timbered interior, a location above the fast-flowing Severn River in the Ironbridge valley – birthplace of the industrial revolution, and now a pretty world heritage site – we were cocooned in essence of English pub. Steve, the friendly landlord, recommended the Cheltenham Gold, and who were we to argue? A wonderful pint.
From Ironbridge we had a short drive up to my Dad’s hillside farm in Wales, and it being Wales, we were treated to sunshine, sleet, snow and rain all within minutes of each other. We were also treated to green valleys, fields of sheep, and thousands of daffodils. A host, even…
Meandering conversations by the wood burner, fuelled by coffee and something a little stronger, are what is best about visiting with Mr. and Mrs. Old OldPlaidCamper, and we were sorry, as always, to be moving on when we left. We did leave with a smile, because we got to meet my Dad’s newish canine companion, his four legged best friend (he denied it, never one to admit sentiment toward a furry friend, but we weren’t fooled one bit) and this was Blue, the prettiest little daschhund you’ll ever see!
Mrs. Old OldPlaidCamper is a big fan of wolves, and she’s looking forward to the day we manage to photograph one out on the coast. We send her pictures of Scout doing wolf impressions, but she isn’t fooled.
As I write this, we are sitting in The Woolpack Inn, an old pub located a short hike from Hardknott Pass and Roman fort. Their Hardknott Pass golden ale is just the ticket. We thought so after one pint, and this was confirmed by the second.
Weather permitting, or not permitting, we are heading out shortly to take in the views, with heavy rain and strong winds being our likely companions as we stride onwards and upwards. We know there’ll be a pint of something good when we head back down, and my brother should have arrived – he’ll be nursing his own glass of something good, and holding a space for us by the fire…
The internet is sketchy here, so I hope this makes it out. Thanks for reading, and have a wonderful weekend!