Seven out of seven.

Pub no. 195. The Seven Stars.

The first time I went in the Seven Stars I had the place to myself, save for the barmaid and the landlady. And the famous be-ruffled cat. The landlady was sat at a table on the phone discussing something or other making good progress with a bottle of wine. The barmaid was texting or something much modern on her phone. After I'd finished the landlady saw my empty glass - "Would you like another?" she enquired. "Yes please" I returned.

"Bar-wench!!" she cried towards the barmaid, "see to the gentleman!!". 

And from then I've really liked this pub. It's a cracker, right down to its treacherous stairs to the toilets. It does get rather busy come office going home time with all the local legal eagles. And it's on the tourist trail, so it's not unusual to see confused / delighted foreigners in there, and people doing that all-too-common thing nowadays that seems to become the done-thing for clueless idiots intent on drinking real ale. And that is to carefully and thoughtfully taste samples of each brew, while huge queues of thirsty folk behind them spill outside and snake round the corner. They almost always just settle for the one that doesn't taste of anything.

Here we are a good way into a pub crawl of ancient pubs. What a fine day that was, and what a fine pub this is.

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