Triumphal Return

Late night ferry arrival into Plymouth last night was further delayed by immigration control which whilst not quite Operation Stack, still kept us waiting until after well after ten o clock.

At the time, the novelty of a fly fishing lodge in deepest north Devon seemed like a great idea as a stopover for the last night of our holiday. After the empty French roads, 45 miles also seemed like a short hop. Reality was that after what seemed like an eternity of narrow country B-roads, no Satnav and reliance on iPhone Googlemaps with diminishing 3G, it seemed like we were going to have to spend the night in the car on a foggy Dartmoor with a full moon and the beast on the loose.

We finally made it though by midnight to our so-called "luxury" Fox & Hounds Country House Hotel in Chulmleigh. Unhappily, after all that stress and followed by the excitement of arrival, we were met by a very dour looking (and positively un-chumly) receptionist. With that, my dreams of a late Fishermans bar still open to residents evaporated.

Morning revealed even more corporate unfriendliness, which after the so-polite Breton hoteliers was a rude awakening to us both and a welcome home reality check.

Daylight revealed we had entered the hotel from hell last night under a triumphant arch of be-ribboned mini diggers that was to welcome the wedding party of the day. It also revealed to me that this was not a true fishing lodge anymore but a theme park. I couldn't stomach the 5 miles fly fishing on offer on the River Taw after that it was that bad.

Holiday over me thinks.