Following the article on my merry trip down to Devon, I have heard from a reader who reports some even more bizarre happenings elsewhere.

I will leave it to your imagination which town, as opposed, of course, to city, it was, but it likes to regard itself in direct opposition to Brighton in the seaside stakes.

She was one of a party of four who were visiting for a weekend of jollity, a dinner and dance and a bit of relaxation.

After booking into their hotel they decided to go for a walk in the brief spring sunshine.

After a good brisk saunter they decided the sun was well and truly over the yard arm so they decided that the gin and tonic hour was upon them and made for the nearest watering hole which, by sheer chance, was one of the very best hotels around.

Or so they thought.

Resting their weary bones they looked around the bar for a waiter or waitress.

Not a soul in sight.

After waiting some time one of them managed to find a barman who seemed to have a list of orders as long as his arm and no one to help him.

They ordered a vodka and tonic and three Bloody Marys and hoped they would arrive before it was time to go back to their hotel for dinner.

Finally the barman hove into view, tray held high, with what looked like a rather heavy load. It was.

The vodka and tonic was OK - it's quite difficult to ruin that simple order.

The Bloody Marys were another ball game altogether.

Three large glasses with a shot of spirits in them, a bottle of tomato juice each, a bottle of Worcester Sauce, a bottle of Tabasco sauce, no ice and no swizzle sticks. Talk about Do It Yourself - there wasn't even the right equipment to do that.

Somewhat stunned, they suggested to the rapidly-retreating barman that he might feel inclined to serve their drinks in the proper manner.

"You mean you want ME to pour the drinks," he said with an air of total disbelief.

I was not apprised of their reply but I can imagine it was less than complimentary.

For this travesty of service they were charged £14.

But this was not all their trip had to offer in the service stakes.

Back at their own hotel they enjoyed a very pleasant dinner and were considering retiring to bed when one of the ladies decided that a glass of milk would be a good way to end the evening.

Her husband went to the reception desk and asked if such a thing might be easily available.

He was told to go and ask in the bar, which he did.

The barman looked at him as if he was from another planet.

He looked to the right, he looked to the left, he surveyed the empty bar in front of him, giving an excellent rendering of Nelson's famous "I see no ships" routine.

"Do you see any milk in here?" he asked plaintively.

Back at reception a gentleman, who by sheer good luck turned out to be the manager, went and got a glass of milk. No charge and a less unhappy customer went to bed.

I wonder if he dreamed of the good old days of service with a smile?