Ale and Cider Fest!

The outsized chef stood outside watching intently, hoping for customers, young surfer types from Welcombe and Cornwall sat around in huddled groups along the Quay wall, families with plastic packed picnics lay half baked on the soft round pebbles while children that can't read and parents that don't care, throw stones at the boats. The bank holiday weekenders full of the joy of British summer time queue for pasties and ice cream served with a smile. The handy helpful hands stack up the barrels and kegs of locally grown ales that arrive in a variety of strengths, from session to depression to ridiculous! So the people who have found and followed the signs from the outside world at the top to the village far deep below, can find solace in ale and comfort in cider.

Welcome to Clovelly's celebration of local ales and ciders, where the cardiganed experts in socks and sandals, brave pale chested youths with everything to prove and nothing to achieve, the 'Ever so supportive of local events' and the chilling in the sunshine real ale enthusiasts, gather to try, test and take too much pleasure in the finest of mashed and stewed brews.

All day long and over the weekend the barrels were tapped, drawing off potent nectar for the, 'Just as well try some as we're here' as the 'Hello sweetheart' barmaid is run off her feet, trying to pour drinks at the bar and find food from the kitchen while cleaning and clearing the overflowing tables and chasing up the 'Sat outside in the sunshine' orders, 'Number 101! scampi and chips!!' going cold.
Enthusiasts and alcoholics enjoy imbibing the interestingly titled beverages, discussing the variety of subtle distinctions that each ale offers to the discerning palate as they quickly knock back another!!

Chatter becomes less structured as everyone becomes an expert, everyone finds their favourite, unassuming, disapproving partners gather, arms crossed at the door waiting for the Lion to roar. the half drunk, just a little merry, louder mouthed youths down another unappreciated pint. The 'Not so you'd notice' sober couples, arm in supportive arm sidestep up the blackening street heading for home and a hangover. Heads and walls fill with the familiar scrape and plink of the regular folk music, flowing with the pouring of another glass. one by one musicians change tune but nobody notices. The evening extends pleasantly into a warm ale, soaked sawdust filled night, waiting for sleep and escape.

For three long, glorious, sun blessed, famously calm watered, stunningly hot and deliciously drunk days the ale fest and cider pressed celebrations lingered on, leaving us pleasantly and persistantly plastered, praying for an end and salvation and hoping we can do it all again next year.