Blimey, I’m catching up a bit.
In fact, I’m about to put Northamptonshire to bed, the best place for it.
Award yourself a half of Doom Bar if you knew where Charwelton is.
“Daventry” is close enough.
Not quite Clun, but I was able to stand in the middle of the A361 to take this shot of the medieval packhorse bridge.
Yes, it’s the Crowland of the Midlands, a treasured position.
Only one jogger passed me out on the Jurassic way, where the eponymous film was shot in 1992.
Northants is an understated county, with much to be understated about.
190 of the village’s 220 residents came out to say hello, perhaps wondering if I was going to take on the vacant Rector’s post.
But I’m not.
I suspect the Fox and Hounds gets more visitors than the Church of the Good Shepherd. Use it or lose it.
It’s not the best Northants pub in the Guide, not even in the top 50.
A bit too “Bucks”.
But the welcome was warm, and if everyone else was eating at least they knew each other and said “ello“.
And they all wore hats indoors, cos that’s how you get ahead.
I made the classic mistake of ordering the North Cotswold homebrew, which fluctuated wildly between NBSS 2.37 and 3.07. And back again.
I’m sure the barman was trying to warn me off. The next Old Boy had the Sheep.
The barman showed folk through to the dining room, but had my number sussed and didn’t ask if I was eating .
I only had a high table and a supply of County magazines to entertain myself, but sometimes that’s enough.
Miss Jane Fortescue-Spenlock married Master Charles Foddlesham in Canons Ashby, it probably tells me.
I was more interested in the adverts in the surprisingly colourful Daventry tourist brochure.
Go on. Treat yourself to a weekend in Daventry. I dare you.
“For once in my life” gave way to “Let’s stay together“, and two octagenarians loudly discussed their hatred of turkey.
“You don’t HAVE to do Christmas at all” I seethed, silently.
And then returned to the thin glass from hell.