Well we're back now, it was an interesting night. Not a failure or disaster but no an unmitigated success either. The Fox and Hounds near Okehampton, which I remembered as a great pub and camp site, had a madman behind the bar, who wandered off in the middle of taking orders, refused to take food orders unless the kitchen was completely free of work, and spoke an what sounded like a badly-faked 'Lahndahn' accent. After we pitched, two enormous tentfuls of asbos pitched as well, one of whom spent the night alternately coughing his heart out and vomiting.
The bogs for the campsite had no soap but tried to make up for it with plenty of brown finger-smears up the walls, and the locks on the doors were broken.
On the other hand, my darling wife was delighted by the beauty of the Moor, even though she found my backpacking tent a bit claustrophobic with me, her and a large brown dog in residence. We're going to try again, properly off the road this time, in the next week or so. No bar maniacs, hurking asbos or filthy bogs. It will be much nicer.
