The Bell House was not on my planned list of stops when I trudged out into the deluge this morning because I was expecting something more hotel-like than pubby. But, even without the hearty recommendation of our Giles at the Rising Sun the bar was compelling enough as it emerged on the main street that it would have been hard not to enter.
It was still very humid and now that the mercury was rising I was losing fluids at an impressive — if not alarming — pace. I ordered a Butcombe IPA and settled into rehydrate. About 2/3 through the beer, the proprietor (with a spectacular Welsh accent) turned up with a phone cocked in his ear and asked if I was the American walking pub-to-pub. I confessed and he said it was Giles on the other end and that he was offering to buy me a beer…had I actually been walking he would have been right on time but as I actually jog a bit faster than that I thanked the man and headed out, still unsure if the timing of the call was by design.