[Dailydrool] London Adventure: Friday am, Devon and Morse

[Sally King via Dailydrool]

Younger Clara here
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that Ipo had not caught the train with us. I was mortified. What was I going to tell auntie Val?I found Bobo further along the carriage, snoozing on a luggage rack.
“Where is Ipo?” I demanded. “You promised me she would join us at Paddington. Now we’re almost in Devon and she’s not here.”
“She’s fine, she’s coming later. You have to trust us angels to know when hounds, and erm, Ipos are OK.”
The train was slowing down and sleepy hounds were opening their eyes for a first glimpse of Devon, the part of England where our good friend Morse lives.
“Can we go straight to the pub?” asked Chunky, “I hear they have great food.”“I want to go to the beach,” said Olivia. “I’ve heard all the stories about glorious things to roll in.”
“Well first,” I said pulling my case off the train, “We have to find Morse”We walked, and flew, through the barrier and looked around for our host. He was nowhere in sight. I wasn’t too worried as Devon lanes are narrow and often blocked by herds of cows, sheep, or lost tourists trying to turn their cars around and getting jammed between the hedges. But I was a bit surprised. Morse is an absolute gentle hound and I would have expected him to phone if he was held up.
I got out my phone and rang. He answered straight away. “I’m just up the concourse. Can’t get up, found a good spot by the hotdog stand.” And there he was, glued to the floor with his nose twitching towards the meat and his best sad-dog eyes boring into the shopkeeper.

He reluctantly got to his feet and indicated a waiting coach. “Going on a pub crawl,” he explained. “Can’t drink and drive”

“Whats a pub crawl?” asked Christmas.“Oh, that’s easy, said Mollie Grace. “We go to one pub, then crawl to the next one, then the next.”“Except we use the coach, not our knees - I hope,” added Rusty.

“Breakfast first,” demanded Madden. I can smell some fine sausages. We cleared the entire stock from the hotdog stand and then popped into the coffee shop for a few cakes and cookies, before scrambling on to the coach.

Morse was a very good tour guide, pointing out all the interesting places as we wound our way down the tiny lanes. Once or twice I was quite worried the bus would fit through, but the driver was a pro.

“Look at all those sheep,” said Mac. “I quite fancy a joint of lamb right now.”

“First stop, the Rising Sun in Ashburton” called Morse as we turned into a car park in front of a low, white building.“There’s a huge garden here, explained Morse, but as it’s a bit early and looks like rain, we’ll go inside.”

We were welcomed into the cozy, bar and soon had drinks lined up and food ordered.

Chunky asked “Granma Pawtunia, may I try some English beer?” “You may have a small one,” she replied. “I intend to try a little of the local cider,  I hear it’s very good.”“And very strong,” warned Rolph. “I want cider and beer insisted Mozart, mixed together!”“Not a chance,” replied Morse. “Sailors used to order that in order to get drunk as quickly as possible, as cheaply as possible. You are still a puppy. Have a ginger beer.”

The Rising Sun is known for its excellent selection  of West Country cheeses and Pie Nights, so we all popped into the kitchen to sample all of them, before the previously very friendly landlord chased us back on to the bus.

“You’re doing it wrong” Morse told us “The trick is to lie in the bar looking starving and people will just give you food. There’s no need to go to the effort of seeking it out. Next stop, the Thatched Tavern, Torquey.”
“Hold the bus!” I shouted “Tedward’s missing.”

Where we went http://www.therisingsunwoodland.co.uk/ 
Clara, Rolph, Morse and their friends in the West Country
Thank you all for sending money to our homeless friends. If anyone else wishes to give a little cookie money to the homeless hounds of UK, you can Paypal payments at brngb.org.uk  or visit their Just Giving page to pay by card. Those who want to send a check can email me at bassetydogshomr at gmail.com for an address.
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