I completely forgot to photograph anything in or outside of the Pack Horse after changing from my running kit having finally escaped the estate catacombs that protect the rest of the world from the Old Lane. I blame the charming landlady for getting me into a conversation about running; she runs a bit, and has done the London Marathon in the past. And, she’s simply a bright and pleasant chat companion, the sort you hope for when you are sitting around drinking mid-afternoon on a Friday.
The bar is cool, too. Chippenham has an active real ale movement and there wasn’t a lager to be spotted in front of the patrons bunched up at the curve in the bar where some wee risers of staircases take you into some smaller rooms and a short segment of additional bar. This customers were potty and surreal the way old codgers should be although I suspect most are younger than me. There were only two ales on that I noticed, Moles and Doom Bar (but what more could you ask?); they also had BOTH Black Rats: cider and perry. There’s a big garden for better weather to come and the house is much better suited to the civilised than the Old Lane will ever hope to be (I shall return).