The George Inn

Cups of tea: 0
Pints: 1
Beds: 1.5
Number of times getting into the wrong side of the car: 2

The George is amazing, once you get inside. (Side note: EVERYTHING here is named George. The Foreman family would fit right in). As I was saying, The George is an incredible mixture of a pub in the front and an inn in the back.The pub is warm and welcoming, and the walls are decorated with sassy quotes about alcoholism. My kind of place. Through the back and up a set of very steep, very narrow steps are four bedrooms, just large enough to hold a VERY large bed, two bedside tables, and a desk offering an electric kettle and tea fixins. Apparently this is a common thing here. There is a string hanging from the ceiling above the bed, and another in the bathroom. The string is how you turn on the lights. Again, apparently a normal thing. I'm not sure whether the building has always been a B&B or if it was converted from a house. It has the kind of feeling that wouldn't leave me surprised either way. It actually reminds me a lot of my uncle's house in the upper peninsula of Michigan. From the upstairs window, you can see down into the grounds of St. Mary's Church which has been around since the 15th century. The bathroom window looks into the garden of the adjacent house. We peaked out the window when we arrived and saw two elderly women drinking tea in their pajamas (it was approximately 5 PM, mind you). I can only hope to be on their level someday. I wouldn't mind staying here for the length of the trip.

As you may have noticed, I placed a caveat on the glory of The George. You must first figure out how to get inside. This took us an embarrassingly long time to figure out, though to our credit, we had at that point been traveling for a lot of hours. I couldn't tell you how many, exactly, but I know it was a lot of them. We parked in the small lot behind the inn, and walked up the gravel pathway towards the street. The first door we encountered had approximately 50 small chains hanging down in front of it, creating a pseudo screen door effect. We did not attempt to open that door. Good job, go team. The second door we came to seemed much more welcoming, until we got closer and realized there were no handles on the outside. We quickly ruled that door out as well. Continuing onward, we reached the end of the alley and hung a left, putting us in front of the pub's main entrance. Surely, this is where humans are meant to enter the pub. Except those doors were locked. There was one more door even further down the street. An old wooden door with an iron loop for a handle. We trekked down to it and...pulled? pushed? turned? How does one open a door with an iron loop for a handle? We tried the obvious choices although, to be fair, we did not attempt to use the iron loop as a knocker. Confused in that special way that you can only experience in times of true sleep deprivation, we decided to head back to the car and sit. Or something. At that point, we probably had the combined mental capacity of a sweet potato. However, as we were walking back past the mysterious, handle-less door, out popped the innkeeper who let us enter through what we now know to be a fire door. No need for exterior handles, since it is technically meant to be exit only and used just for emergencies. Once inside, we got the grand tour and a set of keys which allowed us access to our room and ALSO the door with a ring for a handle. You turn the ring. That's how you open the door. After the tour, I knew one thing with certainty. The question is not IF I will get lost in here, but rather, WHEN I will get lost.

After hauling all of our belongings up the aforementioned steep, narrow stairs, we cleaned up a bit and went out to meet William's granddad and nan for tea. If you read the Cups of Tea counter at the top of the post, you'll see that we did not actually have tea while we were there. We ended up just sitting in their cozy sunroom and talking for awhile. The sunroom was actually fairly warm, which was a nice change from the cold outside. Texans, eat your heart out.

After a very nice visit, we returned to the pub where we had dinner before winding our way back through the tables and through a back door granting access to the stairs. Knowing that our electronic gadgets were likely just as drained as we were, we pulled out all of our miscellaneous charging accoutrement to plug in all the things. ALMOST all the things. The one thing missing, the one thing that would be the hardest to replace, the one thing that in no way resembles all the other cables, was my camera charger. After packing and repacking to ensure that I did not carry on more volume than a loaf of bread so that I could carry my camera on, I forgot the flipping charger. My camera is dead and I have no clue how to replace it. All things considered, not the worst hiccup to have in a day involving a Transatlantic flight AND a cross-country drive (on the wrong side of the road) but still not an awesome way to end the day. At least tonight I won't have to sleep at a 60 degree angle.Read more