Beer, cubed

I recently had the pleasingly-cubic experience of drinking a pint of beer in the Barrel O' Beer pub in the rather lovely town of Beer, South Devon.

The pint, for the record, was Otter bitter, brewed locally in Devon, with the excellent slogan "Relax with an Otter", something I've enjoyed elsewhere on a number of occasions. I'm still trying to get hold of a bar towel.

The pub was splendid - friendly, honest, pubbish. The beer was good and the food was excellent (I had homemade rilletes followed by whiting - delicious).

Beer town itself was extremely pleasant. In particular, I enjoyed the beach; fishing boats drawn up on the pebbles in neat lines, each with a cable running to a winch box higher up the beach. To one side, a field of deckchairs, all disappointingly empty by late afternoon. Indeed, except for the family with the shrieking teenagers, wading at the waters edge, we had the beach to ourselves.

"Ungainly meat."

That's what I thought she said. And I thought: Hang on, you're not that big.

But what she actually said was: "Again we meet."

My bowl of grapes smells like stale wine.