Now, I’ve already covered my love for Guinness, but, of course, I’ve lived in Devon for nearly twenty-four years. And so we come to cider.

Sometimes, in a moment of mistaken authenticity, you might come across a cider only to find it’s never had an apple core so much as wafted over the bottle cap. Sometimes, one sip is enough to tell you that your teeth won’t last past Christmas because you’ve had enough sugar in one mouthful to sink a TV personality.

But the proper Westcountry cider… whether clear or cloudy, Red or Scrumpy, it makes no odds, it’s all tremendous. Should you find yourself in Devon, with a slight objection to full-time sobriety, have some Devon cider.


A thing I have found with cider lately – and I’m sure it’s just me – but when I’ve been on the cider, I have really weird dreams. These usually involve doing a tressle-table’s worth of tequila shots with Kim Bodnia from Killing Eve.



Guinness makes me feel heavier. As if, from almost nowhere, gravity is working more strongly on me than usual. But cider makes me float.