More posh Cambs now, as I give you the Saturday Coton & Madingley double bill.
You can actually walk from Coton through the University fields towards the Backs, but you’ll get run over by aggressive cyclists if you’re not careful.
Walkers really are second-class citizens in Cambridge; see how cyclists ignore the “Please dismount” signs.
Feel my anger. Coton is an angry place too.
The sound of gunshot keeps Mrs RM on her toes as we head through Mrs Bradford’s farm. They’re not actually firing at Mrs RM, but I don’t tell her that.
It’s a prosperous village. Visit the Orchard Garden Centre to see how people who think Waitrose is too cheap live.
The highlight of the half hour walk through the fields to Madingley is one of Cambridge’s premier tourist attractions, Stop 5 on the Double Decker Bus Route (Stop 3 is Spoons).
The American cemetery is built on the sort of hill you don’t think Cambridge has. Perhaps they imported it from Utah. It’s sombre and uplifting, even from outside.
A fair number of American visitors will have pressed on to Madingley, beautifully hidden off the new A428, and declared it “lil ol’ England“.
Reminiscent of Chiddingstone in West Kent, it’s barely more than a posh hall, a church, a village hall and a dining pub. Or it was before Lockdown.
On the descent into the village I checked WhatPub in case the Three Horseshoes could offer a tempting takeaway option;
SmokeWorks Ribs cook at home kits. Order on line by 5 Thr. Collect Sat 1:15-1:45.
That’s a no, then.
A fixture in the Good Pub Guide, not the Beery one, it’s been two decades since we popped in for seared shallots and Southwold. In fairness, both were tremendous.
Will the gentlefolk rush back to the quaint dining pub though ?
There was certainly of plenty of takeaway trade at the less formal Plough back in Coton.
No cask on, but the cheery Landlord confirmed his 4th July opening and I felt a rush of love for beleaguered village gastropubs.
I needed a sugar rush, so had a half of apple juice while Mrs RM sat under the shade of the oak on the village cricket pitch with a pint of artisan lager. I spoil that girl I really do*.
She dispatched me to collect the car from a mile up the road in the Country Park. I picked her up just as the heavens opened. That’s the risk with outside drinking in England, but we better get used to it I suppose.
* Just as well as I did; she remembered it was our wedding anniversary at 11 that night. We both ALWAYS forget.