The gorgeous roadside inn loomed as I corrected my run route from the White Hart. The web site said it opened at 11 but I found it locked at 11:35. Poking my head through an open window, the bartendress spotted me and dashed over to let me into the plush interior.
Continuing the quest for the Daily Tipple for the day, I ordered a Bishop’s Tipple and settled into a conversation with my hostess and a guy there to book an end-of-season do for his skittles team.
At my elbow there was this vaguely art-deco structure that I realised on inspection was a stack of 2 pence coins. Moreover, they were ONLY stacked, not held by any adhesive, so I slowly moved my arm away and tried to keep the conversation non-animated. The barkeep said it has been knocked over once before but they try to steer drunks away from it, in general.