A Ginger, in Beer, drinking ginger beer

I didn’t get a photo of myself but should have. 

Again the kindness of my housemate drew me out to the magnificence of East Devon - on a walk that starts in the cusp of the Jurassic Coast and passes buttercup covered hills, an old water mill with a blacksmith sneaking a smoke by his fire, more wild garlic with its scent filling the air and remarkably tame gorse quivering in the sea wind; throwing out whiffs of pineapple into the air too. 

The ocean round Devon after rain gets very red from the iron rich cliffs around. The famous white cliffs are a bit further east and north from here. 

I am becoming a Devon ice cream cotnnesiour- they are for the most part, rich and sweet - although the serving sizes seem small, you wouldn't want too much.

Our walk ended up in beer- a town of 1400 that I can’t help trying to imagine what may have been like during the dark depths of lockdown. The waterfront, instead of being blocked by posh houses, is a hillside of allotments; leeks reaching to the sky and pea shoots; overgrown rhubarb - herbs line the pathway to the sailing club and the beach is lined with kayaks. Its what I imagine Hobbits would do if they were seaside folk. 

I like beer, and I like Beer. And if I come back I will absolutely make better use of the pun opportunities...