But first to last Sunday, when we drove down to sunny Wiltshire to drop nan off en route to her friends in Exeter, her friends met us at a Little Chef beside the A303.
Once again, as forecast, the day dawned bright and sunny; Jools got nan up and about early enough, and they came to collect me at half eight and soon we were on our way heading up the M20 towards London and the M25 and the traffic.
As it was early, the traffic was not too bad, but the standard of driving was pretty appalling, and it was great to turn off and head westwards down the M3. The traffic lightened, and soon we were beginning to enjoy the trip. we stopped off at a service station, filled up with fuel and bought ice creams, and we headed off again.
Beyond Basingstoke, we turned off down the A303, and the traffic lightened further, and the sun came out and cast wonderful light on the rolling hills and scattered woods. It was wonderful I have to say, passing picturesque villages and neolithic sites. As it was the day before the solstice, Stonehenge was packed, and so we pressed on.
We came to the Little Chef at East Knoyle in Wiltshire. Nan's friends were waiting, and so we sat in the 'restaurant' drinking tea and coffee, whilst the two waiters/waitresses were rushed off their feet by passing travellers of a certain age and demographic. Middle aged couple ate toasted teacakes and sipped from small teacups; we couldn't wait to get the heck out of Dodge.
East Knoyle is one of my favourite villages; away from the A303 and the Little Chef is a wonderful village nestling in the folds of the Wiltshire countryside; it has thatched cottages, two pubs and a fine church. I had arranged to meet a Flickr friend of mine, who shares this passion for churches, and sample some fine beer and take snaps of the church.
We drove down into the village, parked beside the village green, and walked upto the church. England's most famous architect, Sir Christopher Wren, was born in the village, where his father was the vicar. There is a memorial, and a particularly pretty cottage named after their family.
The church is fine, with wonderful plaster reliefs inside; turns out Wren Sr designed them, and not the famous builder. It is a fine church, and once again the centre of village life.
we drove to one of the two pubs, The Fox and Hounds, where we had stopped for dinner a couple of years ago. It has fine views over Salisbury plain, or a similar landscape, and does fine food and good ales. We sat at the picnic benches outside and ordered roast beef lunches, followed by wonderful desserts. It was splendid for sure. My friend, Mark turned up and we chatted for a while until it was time for us to go separate ways.
We headed down to Shaftesbury, a fine market town with one amazing feature; a very steep cobbled hill lines with thatched cottages and once used in an iconic television advert for sliced bread. And I had never seen it, yet having lived in Wiltshire for four years, and so it seemed like a good idea.
Which it was.
We parked up and wandered around expecting Gold HIll to be signposted, but it didn't seem to be. We headed for the church, and beside it was the hill; or it's beginning.
And there was hardly anyone there. I took unencumbered shots of the hill, the cottages, and some old folks struggling to climb back up the hill. There were tables at the Taverna looking down the hill, if you were hungry; people just wandered around, eating ice creams, some of us were snapping. It was all wonderful.
Having taken shots from all angles, we wandered around and found an abbey open to the public; or it's garden. We went in, and I took pictures of the garden now planted in the remains of the abbey church that had been destroyed completely centuries ago. The flowers were wonderful, all fragrant and dazzling with their colours. But, we had to get back to Kent, the clock had ticked round to four, and we had many miles to go.
There is a wonderful drive south of Shaftesbury, over the hills to Blanford Forum; I thought it might be fine to go up there and have a quick walk to survey the scene over the fields to the horizon or sea, whichever is further away. It was cooler there, and the view splendid, but the clock was ticking.
We drove along the twisty road to Salisbury, thus avoiding the gathering of pagans at Stonehenge, seeing many more things and places we have to revisit at some point. At once place we went past some military badges carved into the side of a hill; I knew they were there, but even still to suddenly see these huge badges, wonderfully crafted, just there on the side of a hill.
Once back on the main roads, and then the motorway network, the traffic got thicker and the drivers more stupid, and was not pleasant at all. And it was not the slightest enjoyable at all. But, soon enough we were back in Kent, and the traffic thinned and we drove into the golden evening and home.
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