The sun went behind some clouds just after I left the Great Stone and I ran 15 minutes in exactly the wrong direction until it reemerged, showing me the shadows falling in the right direction. I used this dead-reckoning tool to find my way across south Birmingham and eventually turned up in King’s Norton. The Camp Inn beckoned.
The public bar was absolutely packed (Birmingham City versus crosstown rival Aston Villa was coming up after some rugby) so I slid through the crowd to a marginally less busy lounge. Lively house, loads of regular folk. Good find, but I don’t think I would exactly describe ANYone I saw there as “Camp.”
Endless British Pub Crawl (Part 3) 