Happy End of Lockdown Day to you. Unless you’re one of those folk in Cornwall (in which case you’ll be manning the barricades at the Tamar) or in Tier 3 who can’t control their primal urges.
Tier 3 folk like the good burghers (there’s a pun there somewhere) of Stamford, cruelly lumped in with the lesser people in Bourne and Spital-in-the-Street.
Stamford has applied to be transferred to Rutland (Tier 2) or Cambridge (ditto), both on the border, and is wondering aloud how it’s getting treated so badly when nasty, dirty Peterborough is OK.
I stopped on the edge of Posh last night, in the posh bit near the old show ground and the business park, and temporarily forgot that we still had a day of torment before Proper Pubs like the Vintage Inns Cuckoo welcomed us back to their gastropub bosoms.
Sunset comes early in December, and we just had time for a wander down to the Nene, past an improbable number of listed buildings for a village of 200 (most of them neatly groomed schoolchildren queueing for Freddos at the Post Office).
The sun sank, but I realised when it rose tomorrow I’d be able to return tomorrow for my Cuckoo burger and half of Doom Bar (other craft available).
You just see if I don’t.
Oh, and Tier 3 folk; do NOT cross the border.