Success! Or mostly...

The Fountain Inn at Mevagissey was a great success. They not only take dogs but gave us a room with a private patio so Mollie could go out and have a wee (and even better, I didn't have to get dressed and take her out in the pouring rain at 6am after her breakfast).
The pub is the oldest pub in Mevagissey - the father of all pubs, apparently, and found down a tiny alley not far from the harbour. Mind you, nowhere's far from the harbour. We were greeted by a large tabby cat who swore volubly at Mollie and hissed until she retreated. Realising that she was on foreign turf, Moll behaved herself, but the cat - who turned out to be called Badger - was most miffed at having to share his kingdom with a mere dog. I had to scoop Mollie up in order to get past Badger and up to our room, and Badger evidently told his mates, because in a few minutes two other cats had come to have a look. They didn't think much of the scruffy dog ("the hair - just look at it! Doesn't it ever brush? Or wash. My dear, how disgusting") and doubtless disappeared to stick pins in effigies of small dogs.
Husband had been complaining of feeling bilious but after a few drinks, his steak seemed to go down well and my stir fried prawns were delicious. We explored the village later, had a wander round the harbour and Moll had a dash along the beach, then we went to another pub for a nightcap. Unfortunately they were just about to start the karaoke which Himself can't stand, so we downed drinks and went back to the Fountain and watched the end of the programme on Daphne du Maurier (very disappointing) before crashing out. Mollie gave a few brief barks but apart from that we all slept right through.
This morning things went downhill. The bright evening was replaced by torrential rain, so bad that Ten Tors had to be cancelled. Then Pip's stomach decided to make it quite clear that yesterday's food had been a mistake. He felt very wobbly indeed but luckily we made it home so that he could dash to the bathroom. He's now sitting underneath the duvet watching The Alamo with a large bottle of water (not his usual tipple), hasn't even mentioned alcohol, and even said he might not eat tonight, so the poor thing must be feeling poorly.
As most of my clothes were wet from walking Moll this morning (it only took ten minutes to get soaked) and needed washing, I shoved them all in the washing machine. Later the sun made a brief appearance so I hung the washing out, returned inside - and realised that I'd trodden dog poo all through the flat.
Disasters aside, it was lovely to get away for a night in such a friendly Proper Pub that is also cat and dog friendly. We'll definitely go back there again.