UP TO THE TOR, DOWN TO THE 6X

Ooh, genuine tourist material for you. James and I, bonding on another Father-Son walking trip this week, agreed that THIS is Britain’s worst tourist attraction as we whizzed past it on the A303; Wouldn’t it be sensible if we moved those silly stones somewhere out of the way (South Dakota would be fine) so we… Continue reading UP TO THE TOR, DOWN TO THE 6X

IN THE VALE OF THE WHITE HORSE

On the Sunday I picked up Sis from the pre-booked car park north of Bristol Temple Meads and headed home. “Anywhere you want to stop on the way” she said. Funny you should say that.  The social club at Stanford in the Vale has the sort of opening hours designed to annoy pub tickers, no… Continue reading IN THE VALE OF THE WHITE HORSE

A RETURN TO THE FLEMISH WEAVER

You’ll remember my failed attempt to conquer Corsham, whose bizarre Flemish Weaver had suddenly switched to Winter hours just as I tipped up in Autumn. Well, I never give up. My immediate thought – “Have I entered the ultimate care home ?”.  Room after room off a passageway to the bar, each with be-cardiganed gentlefolk… Continue reading A RETURN TO THE FLEMISH WEAVER