On our trip to Somerset last year we drove through the pretty little town of Bradford On Avon on the way to visit another attraction. Unfortunately we didn’t have the time to stop for a wander and ever since then Amanda has voiced her desire to return. It was hardly a surprise then, when at the start of the year she asked if I fancied a few days there for our birthday trip. She had already had a look at accommodation in the area and it looked like the most suitable option was the Premier Inn at Trowbridge. I had a little think and discussed it with himself; well, I didn’t know if he’d got plans for my birthday did I? Since nothing had been planned I said yes. Amanda subsequently found a better choice of accommodation for even cheaper than the Premier Inn so had booked it for the Monday to Friday; a city break by my holiday scale. We were to stay at an old coaching inn, handily situated in the centre of Bradford On Avon. I had a quick check on Google Maps to locate the inn only to find there was nowhere to park. I mentioned this to Amanda, who admitted she hadn’t thought of this when booking the room as it’s not something train travellers have to consider.  She contacted the inn and was sent a list of car parks in the town. After checking through the list I saw that part of the the railway station car park looked like we’d be able to stay overnight. I emailed the local council to verify that this was the case before checking how far we’d have to haul our cases between there and the inn. Fortunately not too far. 

The week of our trip soon came round. I had decided to go down to Amanda’s on the Sunday so we could get an early start on the Monday morning. She thought I was joking when I said we needed to be off by 6.00am. I wasn’t. By doing so we effectively had an extra day to spend exploring Bradford On Avon. We spent the afternoon sorting through clothes she was chucking out, always a good source for replenishing my wardrobe. After dinner she decided to repack her case whilst making pointed comments about how folks with cars pack differently to those who use public transport. All her stuff went into one case whilst I had my weekend case and several bags; all of which I was going to have to ferry from the car park to the inn. She had just about finished when she let out a shriek. Her aged cat had pee’d on the bed and the open top of her suitcase had been resting in the puddle. So, with time marching on, we had to clean the suitcase, strip the bed, wash all the bedding including the mattress topper and clean the mattress. It turns out that it was probably my fault as I had shut the utility room door where the cat tray lives. Once we had sorted the bed out we could return to getting organised for the following morning’s early start. I had presumed that we would be taking our usual picnic for the journey down so, rather than get up early to make sandwiches, we prepared everything that evening. Cold bacon in flatbread for breakfast and, since it was all Amanda had left in the fridge, piri-piri chicken mayonnaise for lunch. Finally we were packed and organised and it was time to relax with a gin and tonic and poke fun at some rather ridiculously priced but not particularly nice hats; made from stuff the designer had “found in nature”; on a dark and dingy website. I mean, £290 for, literally, a bunch of sticks; or a tiny hair clip made from some beetle wings, a few squashed feathers and some bare quills sticking out! Just because the woman has done an art and design degree doesn’t automatically mean she’s a good designer.  Mind you, if mindless numpties want to pay that much for stuff she’s paid peanuts for or picked up out of litter bins more fool them! We suddenly realised it was getting rather late so we headed off to bed where typically, since I knew I had a long day ahead, I had difficulty dropping off and then only cat-napped for a few hours. 

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I had set my alarm for 5.00am thinking that would give me time to have a coffee, pack the car and be off for around 6.00. I peered out of the window to be greeted by a dull and frosty morning before opening the bedroom door to see that Amanda was already in the bathroom, which put it out of action for a good twenty minutes. I was dying for a pee so I wrapped my jacket around me and went to the downstairs loo. Since I was down there I decided I might as well put the kettle on and make coffee whilst I waited for the bathroom to be free. Once dressed I set about packing the car and scraping the frost from the windscreen with my RAC card; Paul had taken the de-icer out a day or two before thinking I wouldn’t need it anymore. In the end we didn’t get away until 6.50ish what with sorting out bedding and litter trays, not to mention Lisa popping in to give Amanda her birthday present. 

Having decided that I wanted to take the scenic route down the Fosse Way, only using motorways where there was no better alternative I had pre-programmed the sat-nav with my chosen route. I had even printed out the route plan for Amanda to follow. The first part of the journey was on main roads and motorways until we turned on to the A4455 Fosse Way just below Leicester. We made excellent time with only one toilet stop at an old fashioned roadside garage, a picnic in a lay-by and one hold-up at a busy junction due to diverted rush hour traffic. We passed many a pretty town or village along the way; when Amanda spotted the sign for an “Historic Wool Church” at Northleach my first thought, spoken out loud, was that I bet that took some knitting! We were still chuckling miles later as we imagined all the little old ladies of the village knitting little wool bricks for the church. You miss out on all these little surprises using the motorways. We arrived in Bradford On Avon just after eleven. Since we couldn’t check in until after five I downloaded the parking app, sorted out the parking for the day and we set off to explore the town. From the car park we headed for the centre of the town but, because we’re curious, we side tracked over a little footbridge across the river to the Saxon church of St Laurence where we discovered the memorial to Henry Shrapnel; yes, we did look it up and yes it is. From there we wended our way up a narrow ginnel which brought us out near the steep path up to Mary Tory. Of course, it went without saying that Amanda wanted to hike all the way to the top. About halfway up we stopped to look out over the town and had a play around taking pics of me wearing a “found in nature” hat. The path wound it’s way up and up between several rows of pretty houses, all stacked up on the steep incline, like the pages of a pop-up book. At the top, as we paused to catch our breath, we met a very pleasant lady who told us we mustn’t miss the Chapel of St Mary Tory and pointed us in the right direction. The colours in the modern stained glass window were gorgeous but I though the design was a little open to interpretation. Outside we loitered in the grounds for a few moments taking in the view and spotting the Tithe Barn; where we had been heading before taking our detour of discovery. More “found in nature” hat photos were taken on the way down a winding lane which brought us to the entrance of the little country park which surrounds the Tithe Barn. By now it was getting hot and the pale honey coloured stone of the barn gleamed in the bright sunlight. By checking Google Maps we discovered that we were a mere few minutes walk from the carpark so we trotted back to the car, grabbed our picnic lunch and returned to the Tithe Barn where we found a picnic table in the sun where we ate our sandwiches; the piri-piri chicken mayonnaise was surprisingly good; all washed down with a swig of gin/bourbon from our hip flasks.

Bradford On Avon

Once we had eaten we finally went for our stroll around the town. To be honest, as a shopping town it wasn’t up to much; a handful of charity and second hand shops with very little choice, some shabby chic gift shops and a Co-op. There were, however, plenty of places to eat and drink. To waste a bit of time we went to sit in a little public garden just off the main bridge. I spotted a bench in the sun but Amanda pointed out that it was rather close to a couple of winos enjoying the contents of the numerous cans stashed in their wheelie bag. Once we found a bench we were happy with we basked in the sun and people watched whilst slugging back the contents of our hip flasks! What was that about not sitting next to a couple of winos?

Whilst slurping my gin I had a lightbulb moment; an oversized handbag is not called a W.A.G. bag because this type of handbag is beloved of footballers wives and girlfriends or celebrities but because it is capacious enough to carry my Wine And Gin bottles and looks better than a brown paper bag!

At five o’clock we put our flasks away, exchanged a cheery wave with the old lady who had been watching us from her garden over the river and collected our belongings from the car. As we dragged our suitcases through the centre of town we called in at a decent looking Italian restaurant to book a table for Amanda’s birthday meal the following night. As we crossed over the bridge a couple of obligatory selfies were taken under the watchtful eyes of two plump pigeons.

Spot The Difference

We continued up the hill to the inn, which turned out to be run by a middle-aged gay couple, one of whom came to let us in when Amanda phoned the number on the notice by the accommodation door. He was very welcoming, introducing himself as Ken and after enquiring where we were from offered to help with our cases. I think he regretted it though, joking that I must have brought half of Doncaster with me as my case was so heavy.

Our room was a decent size and spotlessly clean, as was the en-suite which had a huge shower. As we set about unpacking Amanda discovered the first problem. As she went to sit on the bottom of her bed it sagged and she landed unceremoniously on the floor. Thinking she had slid off the bedspread she tried again with the same result. On investigation we found that the bottom two slats had fallen out of the bed leaving a huge gap. As we flitted about with our unpacking the warmth of the day turned into the chill of a March evening and we discovered the second problem. The radiator in the en-suite wasn’t working and it was now freezing cold in there. Even though we wanted to, there was no way either of us was prepared to take a shower until it had been sorted. Since we had decided to eat in the inn that evening; apparently it was famous for it’s pies; we freshened up and went down to the bar and whilst ordering we mentioned our issues to the young girl serving us. She assured us they’d be sorted out promptly. We took our drinks and sat at a table to wait for our steak and stilton pies. Which were huge and full of large pieces of real steak; not that pre-prepared catering stuff you normally get. And were they tasty. We eagerly tucked in enjoying every mouthful. We did find out later that Ken made all the pies sold in the pub. As we finished our meal the chap who was running the quiz night, Ken’s other half, came over and told us that he had sorted out the bed and radiator and, after asking if we were the folks from Doncaster, introduced himself as Pete, also from Doncaster and proceeded to cajole us into joining in the quiz. Since neither of us are any good at that sort of thing we declined gracefully. However, as the quiz night got under way, we couldn’t help ourselves and started filling in the answers on Amanda’s phone. I think it was the fact that the quizmaster wasn’t taking it seriously, was constantly dropping lead weighted hints which, astoundingly, many participants failed to get whilst keeping up a light-hearted banter with us that eventually convinced us to join in. To our surprise we came second, winning a chocolate orange for our efforts. Mind you, two members of the group next to us fell asleep halfway through the night so we probably had an unfair advantage. We finished our drinks, said our goodnights and retired to bed.

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Next morning I woke with a start. 

“Shit” I thought. 

I had forgotten to pay for this morning’s parking before I went to bed.

I fumbled around for my glasses, picked up my phone, turned it on to check the time and breathed a sigh of relief. Only 7.30am. I swiped open the parking app and paid the fee. It was too early to start getting up so after peeking under the blind to see what kind of day it was I snuggled back down under the covers and fell back to sleep. To be awoken by Amanda flitting about the room a couple of hours later. 

“Happy Birthday” I greeted her as I headed for the bathroom. Whilst she commandeered the bathroom I sat in bed  my morning caffeine fix and rechecked the weather. It looked like it was going to be another nice day. I finished my coffee and started to get ready in earnest. We had planned to go to Avebury, a favourite for both of us. Since it was only March we made sure we were prepared for all weather eventualities. We raided the breakfast fridge and packed a couple of croissants and pots of yoghurt to snack on until we found somewhere for lunch. Once again I had planned the route and programmed it into the sat-nav and since it took us through Devises Amanda wanted to stop off to find a pie shop she used to frequent. About 20 years ago! And since we were near Devizes I wanted to take a look at an historic flight of  locks on the way back. As it turned out we did the locks first, although we nearly missed them as I whizzed past the turning. We had just parked up when this nice chap gave us his unexpired parking ticket, so we didn’t have to pay. As we wandered over the grass towards the locks we decided to find a bench and eat our late breakfast snacks before taking a pleasant stroll down one side of the canal to the bottom lock and back up the other.

Caen Hill Locks

An hour or so later we returned to the car and continued our journey to Avebury. Amanda did look out for the pie shop as we drove through Devizes but as time was getting on we didn’t really have time to park up and wander round the town on the off chance of finding said pie shop.Rather than park in the main National Trust carpark at £7 ( I had left my cards and stickers back at home, duh) I parked in the smaller one by Silbury Hill which was free. It just meant we started our walk at a different point. After finding out, to Amanda’s disgruntlement, we couldn’t get close up to Silbury Hill we set off along the footpath to Avebury where there would be toilets. Once we had made use of the facilities we wandered up the village street and had a wander round one of those run of the mill “beardy-weirdy, mystic, pseudo pagan” gift shops which spring up round ancient sacred places because Amanda had once bought a pair of earrings there. It got even weirder at the back of the shop where we discovered a room full of crystal alien skulls and books specialising in aliens as the source of all knowledge! After calling in at the little shop cum post office to buy sandwiches, sausage rolls and Kit-Kats for our picnic we headed into the stone circle We spent a bit of time wandering amongst the stones looking for a likely spot for our picnic but felt the main circle was a bit too populated so we left the area, crossed the road and mooched our way down between the stones of The Avenue. About halfway down we found a pleasant, sheltered spot behind one of the giant stones where we could sit undisturbed in the sun for our picnic. After eating we continued our walk. At the bottom of The Avenue the route I had planned took us up a track on the opposite side of the road. Amanda wasn’t sure at first and thought we should follow the well worn track alongside the road towards The Sanctuary but I had planned this just for her so she was going to complete it. The track crossed several fields before heading uphill to the right, coming out at a wee little barrow topped with trees. Paul and I had had a picnic there many years ago which is why I knew it existed. As we set off up the track she realised where we were heading and almost squealed with delight like a toddler with a lollipop. There are several tree-topped barrows up there and we spent way to long photographing them. We continued on down the track which ended in a large muddy area beside a barn. It felt completely wrong somehow but we picked our way over the waterlogged ruts towards the gate. Once out on the road we checked our map to discover we should have backtracked from the barrows to take the path opposite the one we’d come up on. We were about a quarter of a mile off course. We eventually worked out where we were and managed to get back on track; if you’ll pardon the pun; and headed to West Kennet Long Barrow. As we ascended the incline towards the barrow Amanda started to worry that it would now be like Silbury and we’d not be able to get close up. She needn’t have worried. As it was quite late by the time we reached the barrow the sun was starting to go down which made for some good photos. We spent a good while mooching around the barrow and the sun was definitely setting as we wended our way back to Silbury Hill. As we approached it from the opposite side we noticed that there was a path leading to an open gate which led onto the field surrounding the hill. We also noticed other folk wandering around so we joined them for a closer look at the mound before completing the circle and having to negotiate the already out of shape barbed wire fencing on the other side to get to the car.

Silbury Hill, Avebury, West Kennet Long Barrow

We arrived back in Bradford On Avon well after six so the parking was free until 8am. We had a quick shower, tarted ourselves up and donned our posh frocks before heading off to the restaurant for a superb meal and cocktails. 

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Once again I luckily woke up early. As I peered under the blind to see we had another sunny morning I realised that, yet again, I had forgotten to pay for our parking. I slid out of bed and crept across the room to get my phone and; since we were going into Bath by train; paid up for the full day. As I was now wide awake I put the kettle on and made coffee. I wanted to be in Bath early since I wanted to see if we could get into the spa for a couple of hours but, as usual, we did a lot of faffing about. We eventually arrived in Bath around 10.30. Our first port of call was the spa, only to find a ridiculously long queue. Since we only wanted to enquire if we could book for later in the day we decided to come back later on the off chance we’d get in.

Angels On West Front Of Bath Abbey

Happily replete we made our way back to the Roman Baths via a chocolate shop. Didn’t buy anything; mostly chocolate crèmes and fudge. On joining the queue to enter the Roman Baths we were told that entry was timed and by pre-booking but if we cared to wait there may be a few walk up tickets available. 

“Typical” I fumed. 

“You can wait until 1.30 and see if we have any availability” the attendant said “but you should have pre-booked.”

I started to chunter at Amanda about lack of information and whether we should bother at all and the fact that things put in place because of the pandemic were now becoming permanent. 

“I’m sorry but you WILL have to pre-book if you want to be sure of getting a ticket” the woman kept repeating in a resigned voice. 

Amanda dragged me off unceremoniously and pointed out that if I had cared to listen the poor woman was trying to tell us exactly what to do. She quickly found the website for the baths and set about pre-booking our tickets. She was a little confused that our tickets were confirmed but payment was not requested. That done we returned to the queue and gained entry to the queue to pay. Why have a pre-booking system if you still had to queue to pay? And wouldn’t you know it, hardly any queue when we first arrived and now we were behind about 20 people, including a group of blokes in business suits filling in time between conference sessions! We eventually rocked up at the counter, showed our pre-booking details and then…….the cashier asked for our postcode to prove we were residents of Bath. 

“Well you’ve booked a resident ticket,” she pointed out. 

“No we didn’t,” replied Amanda.

“It says on my screen that you have. Do you have your confirmation email?”

Amanda showed her the screen shot she’d taken of the booking details since the email hadn’t come through yet. Behind us we could hear folks getting impatient and I began my usual chuntering, which is not at all helpful but makes me feel better. In the end the cashier called for her manager to sort out our tickets. It appeared we had booked the residents of Bath tickets so she had to change them to regular tourist tickets before we could pay, which didn’t appear to be an easy task. Amanda pointed out that the mobile website wasn’t the most user friendly and the booking page had been particularly confusing to which the manager had to agree. We were finally sorted with tickets and at least she’d timed us for the next influx. And wouldn’t you know it, the email pinged into her inbox just as we made our way into the baths. We spent a pleasant couple of hours wandering and learning about why the baths were there, how the Romans bathed and the goddess Minerva. We were both quite taken by the little curse note about the theft of his blanket written by a dyslexic Roman and that even in Roman times dogs walked over newly laid paving. At the end of our visit we had the opportunity to try some of the spa water. Amanda said she wasn’t bothered since she’d tried some years ago at Leamington Spa and it had tasted like sulphur. I, of course had to try. It wasn’t sulphury at all. It was a more like drinking the green tea we were always served with meals in China than if anything. In the end she tried it and, like me, downed several of the tiny cupfuls; it would serve us right if we had the runs later in the day!

Roman Baths

Back outside we decided to mooch around the shops for a while before going to try our luck at the spa. Our luck was in, there was no queue. We went in, paid up and we’re soon heading up to the rooftop pool where we slid into the relaxing warm water. It was blissful after a day of pavement pounding in a pair of new, never worn before DocMarten boots; I definitely need insoles. After a while we wandered down to the “wellness suite” where the sauna and steam rooms were located. Since neither of us is overly keen on saunas we made straight for the Roman steam room where, after about 10 minutes, I felt like I was well and truly cooked so I left Amanda and went to cool down in the shower before exploring the other rooms. I took another look at what we thought was the sauna to find it was actually an infrared room where you sat in front of an infrared element which was supposed to relax your muscles. A people toaster! I gave it a whirl and quite enjoyed the warming experience. After a few minutes Amanda joined me. We made full use of all that was on offer, including covering ourselves with ice from the ice bath to cool down and relaxing on the warmed mosaic couches in the planetarium. From there we mooched down to the Minerva pool which was both unnerving and a bit of a disappointment. Unnerving because it had an unexpected whirlpool current which swept us off our feet, hurling us round the pool. I’m not sure what we were supposed to gain from this experience but we got out after only one circuit and returned to the wellness suite for another round of relaxation. I left Amanda enjoying the steam room and returned to the rooftop pool for a final float around. Amanda joined me to watch the sun go down over Bath. All too soon our two hours were up and it was time to head back to the station, by way of Primark, and our train back to Bradford On Avon and a takeaway supper. As it happened we decided to call in at the Thai restaurant across the road from the station where we enjoyed an excellent but rather generous meal. So generous that we had the ample leftovers boxed up for another time. Thank goodness for the fridge in our room. And I remembered to pay for the parking. 

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Our last full day dawned bright and warm. It was the day we’d earmarked for a return trip to Brean Down to see the fort we’d missed by about 100 metres last year. On our way to the car park we spotted a little deli tucked in between a charity shop and one of those “we’ve got stuff you didn’t know you needed” hardware shops. We popped into the deli to see if they did sandwiches and yes, she did. Whilst she was serving us the owner asked the inevitable where are you from question. When Amanda replied she came from Newark the lady let out a gasp and informed us she used to work in Newark many years ago. So a wee chat about Newark ensued until she mentioned she also used to help out in a pub called The Wildlife at Birchwood, just outside Lincoln. I remarked that I had spent many a happy hour in that very pub when Himself was in the RAF and we lived in married quarters out at Birchwood. She was so chatty and enjoying the reminiscing that we had to very politely draw the conversation to a close so we didn’t go over our parking time. Once again I had pre-programmed the sat-nav but as with all good plans it went completely tits up. We hadn’t been going long when I noticed that we were heading towards Wells. As we passed the junction for Cheddar Gorge I felt that I should have gone towards Cheddar but I dutifully followed the sat-nav; which dropped us down into Wells and then back out towards Cheddar. It was taking us in a huge circle in what I felt was the wrong direction. So I rebelled and disobeyed the sat-nav. I took it upon myself to go the way I thought best. Fine until I missed a turning and ended up having to continue along a dual carriageway until I came to a roundabout where I could turn around. By which time the sat-nav was having a minor breakdown as it tried to re-route us back to where it wanted us to be. Not to be outdone Amanda had opened google maps and was also giving me instructions. As we neared the roundabout where we would pick up the right road she had me turning off on what looked like a shortcut along a B road which looked like we could cut out two sides of a triangle. All well and good until we had to turn around due to a road closure and a diversion taking us up a lane; which was little more than a track with grass growing down the middle; to bring us out, thankfully, on the road we should have taken in the first place. We eventually arrived at Brean Down, parked up and went to pay, only to find the meter didn’t take card payments. In this day and age? We could, however, download the app. Several minutes later we had managed to pay and went to find the toilets. Of which only two out of the three were working and there was quite a queue. Folks were not happy. 

“I mean,” bemoaned one lady “we pay our 10 quid a month and this is what we get! I could understand it if it was the middle of winter but a glorious day a week before the Easter break and they are only just sorting out a broken toilet.”

 And, as Amanda pointed out, the National Trust may rely on volunteers but the plumbers were not volunteers. 

We decided to give the steps to the top a miss, since they are extremely hard going for those of us with short legs and little stamina, and take the more gentle path a little further on. Our route took us past a little cafe with a sign outside saying they sold Mr Whippy ice cream. We looked at each other and with not a word being said we made for the little hole in the wall. We asked if they really did have Mr Whippy and when it was confirmed they did indeed have real Mr Whippy ice cream two were immediately purchased. We tucked into our ice creams as we headed off up the steep incline of the path. Everyone on their way down looked whistfully at our ice creams and asked where we’d got them from. Amanda thought we ought to get free ice creams on the way down through all the trade we sent their way. Towards the top there was a viewpoint where we stopped to catch our breath and enjoy the view over the sea, along with another couple on their way up who kept us company until we reached the top. After exploring some old WWII gun turret foundations we chose to take the lower coastal path to the end of the peninsula, which turned out to be a gravelled access road to the fort and not the muddy Ill defined footpath we’d thought last year. With several photo taking stops along the way we eventually rounded the last bend to see what we had missed. Originally built in the 1860’s by the then Prime Minister Lord Palmerston as a defence against a possible French invasion the fort never saw action and was abandoned by the military in 1901 becoming a tourist attraction and cafe. Later, during WWII, the fort was again taken over by the military, not only for defence but also as a testing ground for top secret experimental weapons testing; one such weapon being the seaborne bouncing bomb, a round bomb was strapped to a trolley which was propelled down a railway track to hit a buffer causing the bomb to be catapulted out to sea to bounce towards an enemy ship. Apparently one trial went spectacularly wrong when the trolley carrying the bomb went down the track a little too fast, caught fire and hurtled through the buffers and over the edge. You can still see the remains of the track just below the fort. After a good wander around the fort and surrounding area we plonked ourselves on the concrete base of a hut and tucked into our sandwiches and homity pie. Once we had eaten we walked over the top of the down taking in the Iron Age earthworks. Again we decided to take the easier path back down to the car park.

Brean Down Fort

Arriving in Weston we drove along the seafront hoping to find somewhere to park but found nothing. We ended up on a side street about a quarter of a mile back from the seafront. We had however, in our searching, spotted a fish and chip restaurant close to where we were parked so in we went. The waitress greeted us by asking if we’d booked. When we replied in the negative she begrudgingly showed us to a table where we ordered our meals. At least we could now go for a pee. The fish and chips were delicious and washed down with a good cup of tea. By the time we had finished it was well and truly dark outside with that cold, damp seaside mistiness hanging in the air. We still took a wander though, through a deserted plaza; apart from half a dozen hoodie clad skateboarders trying to miss the jets of water as they weaved through the fountains set in the ground; past the Winter Gardens and on to the seafront promenade. We strolled down as far as the pier before turning back and returning to the car. I set the sat-nav which took us, to Amanda’s disgruntlement, onto the motorway towards Bristol. I didn’t mind too much since it was a bit easier than navigating twisty, twiney lanes now it was dark. Until I took the wrong exit and had to go a few miles in the wrong direction before I could turn around.

Back at the inn we decided, since it was our last evening and we’d endured a couple of frustrating journeys that day, to treat ourselves with a pint in the bar before going up to our room to pack for the morning. The place was empty apart from Pete washing glasses. When we commented about the lack of customers he told us that Thursdays were always quiet and they often closed early if no one came in. We took our drinks and went to sit in the cosy armchairs by the fake fire and chatted with Pete whilst he continued his cleaning. We mentioned that we needed a little extra milk for the morning but didn’t want a whole bottle so could let us have some in a jug; and bless his cotton socks he went and fetched some in a glass and popped it in the beer fridge ready for us to take upstairs when we left. A short while later we were joined by Ken who had come to see how Pete was getting along. We invited him to join us since we were enjoying our chat with Pete. He was a little reluctant at first since he had left their dog upstairs. We told him we didn’t mind if the dog came and joined us as well. A few minutes later we were being investigated by the most gorgeous and playful spaniel, who discovered the little fur tribble fastened on to my bag and decided it should be his. In the end we had to hide it from him but he knew what we’d done and never gave up trying to find it. They were such good company that we ended up sitting there until midnight drinking beer and chatting about Doncaster, Northern Soul and how they’d ended up with a inn in Bradford after owning bars in Spain and Ibiza. So no packing done that evening; but I did remember to pay for the car park. 

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Another glorious morning greeted us. Whilst Amanda was in the shower I started to pack my stuff. Not overly difficult as I had been packing my used clothes into one of my packing cubes throughout the week. Although I had forgotten that I’d bought a pair of jeans in Bath which stretched my “weekend” case to it’s limits. Plus I was trying to decant the contents of one of my bags into the case as well to make it easier to ferry down to the car. As Amanda came out of the shower and saw me struggling she pointed out that I really should have used a larger case and done away with all the bags. I had to agree. The problem is, as I see it, is that I am now three sizes bigger than I was when I bought my case so where I could pack it with a weeks worth of size 8 clothes I can’t do the same now I’m  a size 12/14, even with it fully expanded. Defeated by the task I put the rest of my stuff back into all the bags. Feeling all hot and sweaty after my efforts I took myself off to the shower. And realised I still had all my bloody toiletries and makeup to pack! 

We were finally packed, the room checked, and double checked, and ready for our first trek to the car. There was no way I could carry everything in one trip especially since I had forgotten that I now a big bagful of Bath buns as well. I was hoping to be out of the car park by 11 o’clock but ended up extending the time since we discovered a little market had sprung up and decided to investigate on our way back for the second load. As it  turned out it was nothing more than a run of the mill craft market comprising of about eight stalls so didn’t take up too much time. On our last trip to the car we called in at a little bakery shop near the car park; the smell of freshly baking pasties and pies wafting down the street was irresistible; and bought a couple of steak pies and some doughnuts for our lunch on the way home along with a couple of croissants for breakfast. 

Once again our journey took us along the Fosse Way with a minor detour at Stow On The Wold to visit Chastleton House where we spent a pleasant couple of hours wandering through the house and gardens. I particularly liked the long hobby horse in the long gallery, Amanda was intrigued by an unusual lock and we would both have loved to have tried out the horse trainer (maybe the National Trust should invest in a working replica as I bet we’re not the only ones).  Back at the car we tucked into our late picnic lunch before our final visit of the holiday.

Chastleton House

Whilst checking our route back to the Fosse Way the previous night I had discovered another stone circle; the Rollright Stones, which legend has it were formed when a king and his army met a witch; about 10 minutes drive from the house so I thought I’d give Amanda one final surprise. I waited for her squeals of delight to subside before working out which route to take. The decision was made for us since I could only turn one way out of the car park. 10 minutes later we had pulled into a lay-by and made our way down the path to the King’s Men, a perfect circle of stones; looking for all the world like the jagged teeth of an ogre caught mid roar and planted in the ground.  A short stroll around the field edge brought us to the Whispering Knights, which, Amanda pointed out, used to be a dolmen. We retraced our steps and left the main site, crossed the road and entered a rough field to find the last of the monuments, the Kings Stone and a few small barrows.

The Rollright Stones

With the shadows lengthening we returned to the car and completed our detour back to the Fosse Way a few miles further north. Our detour had not been missed by the sat-nav which kept trying to re-route us back to Moreton-In-Marsh. I was about to turn it off in frustration when I realised that Moreton-In-Marsh was a waypoint on the route plan and since we had bypassed the town altogether we hadn’t actually passed the waypoint which had confused the sat-nav. Once I had reset the sat-nav to the next waypoint we had no further irritations and were home in record time. After unpacking we polished off the remains of the duck and noodles for supper before retiring early, exhausted from the long day.