Once again, poor Qype is having a bit of a wrestle with the vagaries of the Ordnance Survey. Don't believe the qype, as Public Enemy almost said this place is in the tiny town of Porlock and not the larger splat of nearby Minehead. So now you know.
Personally, I assumed that everyone knew the Man from Porlock story, but a few scattered comments at the wedding I was attending were met with the universal grunt of complete disinterest. If you half-care, you can Google it: it's a good story, stars ST Coleridge and explains why Kubla Khan is so short. Anyway, it's a tiny and terribly picturesque place: exactly the sort of urbanite-forsaken, geranium-filled twee-fest that so many Londoners choose to get married in, and sod the lot of you if you don't much fancy driving for four hours to get there. As a small piece of gratis advice, I can reveal that a leaving time of 9am from north London to arrive for a 1pm wedding is optimistic at best. And so I found myself on the streets - well, street - of Porlock at around half past one, faced with the conundrum of how to kill the remaining half hour before the bells chimed. Antique shop or pub antique shop or pub
Thing is, walking into the only pub in a half-horse village in a black Armani two-button does seem to be cause for amusement amongst the locals. So whilst I can reveal that it's a lovely, ramshackle low-beamed place with a selection of local ales, friendly staff and a pretty little garden affair at the back, my main experience of it was a little coloured by the fact that the clientele were all sniggering at me. Where's Moneypenny, 007? was probably the wittiest rejoinder, but the selection was rich and varied. Still, with a thick skin or a lack of overtly city folk attire, you can almost be guaranteed a decent pint and a pleasant hour or so in here. If you're in the area, give it a try. Not that you'll have much of a choice. It's here or the antique shop. read more