The Potting Shed Pub.

On the way to my aunt’s house we always pass through a village with a name I find rather amusing – Crudwell. It reminds me of when I was younger and we’d say “crud” as an alternative to swearing (mainly because we thought it WAS a swear word and it was the only one we knew).

Moving swiftly on. We went for a lovely luncheon at the only pub in the village (it’s a rather small place) and all had mussels. Well, why on earth not?

Dan and I went for moules marinières which were superb (accompanied by double cooked chips. Hummina hummina) whereas AJ was more experimental and went for a Thai spiced mussels. Safe to say, there wasn’t a single mussel left!

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