There’s a farm near Stroud (Glos) in a place called Stonehouse where you could once buy perry for fifty pence a gallon. Fifty. Pence. A. Gallon. It’s gone up in price now, but last I heard it was still only about tree-fiddy. It’s the kind of cider that will have you waking up from a blackout in a nettle-patch sans trousers. It needs to be kept out of direct sunlight as well, or it goes nasty. Man, I love the south-west.
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