He was a cliff. The rough side of a shale mountain stood impassively behind the bar moving as a human might and frowning as if embodied by the chiselled caricature of true stoicism. As proprietor of the quaintly simple Copperpot Inn, the unblinkingly dead-faced gaze of Errol Grangly stood like a silo stack over a … Continue reading An Inn Called Copperpot →