October 2026. Thaxted. Essex. And finally in Thaxted, time for tea, after admiring the almshouses one last time. I’d walked the bounds, hoping one of these half-timbered beauties had a Chinese menu pinned to the wall, but intensive investigation found “only” an Indian restaurant, so Thaxted can’t be considered a real town. It also loses… Continue reading WHEN A PINT OF HAWKSTONE IS YOUR ONLY MAN