Pub Grub = Gippy Tum

Yesterday afternoon should have been my first visit to a lovely stretch of the Avon where there be monsters.

I did actually make it there but as it was inhospitably hot and sunny when I parked up, I decided to while away an hour or so by having a pub lunch and a pint of ale. The beer was from Jennings of Cumbria, nice.

On the chalk board were  a number of pub classics and I went for pork chop. It was delicious.

By now the local yummy mummies were parked all over the village waiting for their little Tristans and Bethanys to bring them their scribbles and potato prints so I decided to head down to a familiar stretch and have a look-see for an hour - the sun was still high in the sky. Met just one angler who had just caught a PB chub - well done! Had a nice chat with the bloke - hope to see you again on the bank - and headed back to the original stretch.

Martin had given me good directions where to walk and I was soon eying up possible swims.

No sooner than casting a giant piece of meat along side a nice undercut bank I felt a strange, but not unknown, feeling in my guts. I won't go into details, there may be those of a delicate constitution (not Martin for sure) reading.  Suffice to say that over the next hour I experienced hot sweats, bright lights, terrible stomach cramps and everything which normally follows.

My hoped-for few hours of searching out a double merely resulted in me doubling over.

I won't name the pub for fear of legal action, but I can assure you that my normal healthy life-style was not to blame for this disaster - at least not this time. A bowl of breakfast cereal was all I'd eaten since the night before.