The bar was crowded just inside the door. A tall, middle-aged fellow broke from his conversation and yelled over, “how far have you walked, then?”
“Amesbury,” I replied not pointing out that it was at a running pace albeit a slow one.
“Ooo, aye? How long did that take?”
Looking to the GPS on my arm, “two hours, but this is the fourth pub stop. The sweat is 60% alcohol.” By this time, the barmaid handed me my Otter and I escaped to the garden.
A couple came out and sat at a nearby table a few minutes later and after another five minutes their plates piled high with roast beef, potatoes, yorkshire puddings, something green, and gravy were brought out and then, soon after, even more food. Their conversation came to a halt and they ate the lot before I was 2/3 finished with my pint; I didn’t want to stare but it was truly impressive.