Finally Found: The Butcher's Arms

Remember last Sunday while we were in Gloucester for the emergency trip to PC World, a couple told us about THE most authentic English pub in a town called Sheepscombe that we couldn't find? Since then we've tried three more times and gotten lost every time.  The GPS gets into a tizzy and starts sending us in crazy circles, round and round.  So today, we went to a garden nearby, called the Painswick Rococo Garden http://www.rococogarden.org.uk/ .  (I'm sort of starting today backwards, but I'll catch up later.)  We set out about 3:00 pm, knowing that the gardens closed at 5:00 pm.  Just as we got to the car park, the rain (which had been threatening and going off and on through the afternoon) began a deluge.  We sat in the car for a few minutes, hoping for a break.  It did slack off a bit, so we gathered our rainproof (?) jackets around us and headed off. Joan was well-prepared with her waterproof jacket and rain hat and umbrella.  Bob, unfortunately, had left his Tilly at the house--which was where the umbrella was as well.  I pulled up the hood of my rain jacket and off we went to buy tickets and hope the rain was a passing shower.

It wasn't.

Bob managed to snag a big umbrella from the main shop and off we went.  It kept pouring.  We persevered.  After all, we'd paid 5 pounds each to get into the damned garden!  Which was beautiful even in the rain.  There were kitchen gardens with espaliered pear trees on the fences surrounding the various gardens.  The plants were really enjoying the rain.  For us....not so much.  But we kept going.  Found a great maze that we could view from above.  (And, Mel, it actually "said" something: 250--which was the number of years since the founding of the gardens.  Sorry, inside family joke.)  Gorgeous view of the Painswick Valley from a high vantage point.  Finally, we called it quits and made it back to the starting point, returned the umbrella, and I said, "Wait a minute." There was a really cute (very young!) Englishman at the till, and I asked him if he knew where The Butcher's Arm's Pub was.  "Oh, yes!" he said. "Could you direct us there?" I asked.  "Oh, yes," he said.  And he proceeded to give us directions: go left out of the car park, then a quick right, then keep going....and going....and going....  It wasn't actually that far, but it was the same tiny track that we had tried last Sunday and it seemed to go on forever.  Of course, we were driving down a narrow track, barely wide enough for our tiny little Kia--beautiful views across the countryside, cows on either side, stone walls and hedgerows, up and down this narrow track we kept going.

Finally, we found it. A beautiful pub with a car park and picnic tables in front.  Gorgeous hanging baskets and pots all around the outside. 

But when we went in.......yes.  This was the place.  We walked up to the bar and told the two young women behind it, "You don't know how hard we've been searching for this place!" As usual, we gave our wimpy order of a half-pint of ale for me, a half-pint of Perry cider (pears) for Joan, and a WHOLE pint of cider for Bob.  After our trials and tribulations, I felt a great sense of satisfaction.  The bonus was that we saw a notice for Morris dancers http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morris_dance for next Wednesday, June 22, and we made reservations for dinner for that night.

Only one problem: can we find it again?