Nice one.
The Trout was certainly different, and at the heart of one of my most told fishing anecdotes, although perhaps for slightly different reasons...
Anyway, 1981 or 1982, not long after I moved down South, ended up deciding on an "away from the girlfriends" weekend fishing with an old mate from Uni, did a bit of research and found a few places where you could camp at or near a pub with fishing attached. Friday night drove to Oxford where mate knew of a pub ( "Cherwell Inn" I think) where you could camp in the back garden by the river. Did that, few beers that evening, and fished the Cherwell the next day without catching anything dramatic so late afternoon upped sticks and headed for Tadpole Bridge.
Got there about 5 30 I think, no sign of life but door was open so we went in. Nobody about so "Hello? Are you open?" About 30 seconds later for reasons that now escape me we were both laughing about something when the landlord appeared.
"Two pints of bitter please"
"I'm sorry, I'm not serving you. You both sound like you have had quite enough already"
"I'm sorry ?...."
"You heard what I said"
After about ten minutes of us talking about fishing and where the best swims were he grudgingly seemed to accept that we hadn't had a drink and we paid him for the camping and the next day's day ticket, although he still never made a move towards actually serving us a beer.
Anyway, tent pitched, had a quick bite to eat and made a joint decision that we might have a better evening by walking the two miles to Bampton given that Mine Host seemed to have taken an irrational dislike to us. So we did, stayed in the first pub we came to as it was Wadworth's and had rather too much 6X and Farmers Glory in too short a time. Got to 10 30 and we decided that if we didn't leave then we probably never would so set out to walk back and had gone about five yards when a taxi dropped off at the pub we'd just left. Got in, quick ride back to the Trout and with 20+ minutes to closing time made the decision that for his future reference the landlord should get to see us when we HAD had a drink. No sign of him, had a nice chat with the landlady who served us with no problem despite our both needing to hold onto the counter with both hands. Last orders bell and had just been served another (Was it Morrells or Ind Coope, cant remember?) when landlord reappeared and spent the next twenty minutes just glaring at us.
Anyway, had a nice days fishing the next day getting chub on the waggler, packed in late afternoon and just pulling out of the car park when the landlord came over hurriedly and advised us that we WOULDN'T be coming back.
We did though.. Both joined a local club and one of our first outings was a coach trip to Tadpole. Thought it advisable to hide behind the seats until the Sec had safely paid the day tickets...
