The rain pissed down before I was out of Sunningwell and my planned shortcut to the quite marvelous Prince of Wales ran into the fence at an old RAF base. I trudged along eventually finding my target.
The pub has a larger lounge but only the Public Bar was in use and so I was subjected to the “nice weather for a jog” round of chatter from the three customers and the landlord. I bought a Loose Cannon Dark Horse (an Abingdon based brewery) and paid with a tenner, got my change, and I guess I dropped the fiver on the floor ’cause I came up short later on. That’s such an annoyance, but what-are-you-gonna-do, eh? The rain strengthened and I enjoyed the beverage, but the pint and the shelter cost £8.30 all tolled.
Coincidentally, four large, bald Geordies came in bitching about the prices in their sing-song dialect. It is almost as surprising (even more so) to find these lads in an isolated village in Oxfordshire than it is to find an American, and they were a hoot. Noting the upcoming ale fest in the pub includes the 1/3 pint measure (so you can try more of the beers), one said, “Fockin’ ‘ell. There’s only twenty beers on, what kind of men do you have around here?” Another started talking about getting loaded in Belgium at some place that had several hundred beers to choose from; he missed his flight and found himself £120 out of pocket…and I whine about losing £5.
