Pubs, soon to be phased out of the Isles by smoked glass, wipe down, hygenists, health and safety, sanitisation. However there are still hidden away backwater, underground, tributive, non main stream 13th Century hostelries if you know where to look. This is my parents 'local', meat and ale no nonsense fairyland of twink and sparkle, warmth, open fires and shelter from the cruel moors.

Not a great one for taking time seriously I have a fascination of early measuring machines thereof. There are well over two hundred clocks in The Earl St. Vincent and one awaits every 'on the hour' with anticipation, chimes and bells, cuckoo's, clinks, clonks and chinks.

The Earl St Vincent in Egloshayle, Cornwall would have been my home if I was still drinking. I wouldn't have left and found it difficult today on two coffee's and a lemonade, let alone sixteen pints of Spitfire and a few Barley Wines.