It was decided that I would go for a long walk today so I set off at 7 for the walk along the River Teme. All walks so far this holiday have been through wooded hills and rocky escarpments so I thought a nice stroll through farmland was in order. What I didn't allow for was the rain.

Crops love rain, they can't get enough of it. Thing is, they don't drink it all at once so lots of it just hangs around, waiting for the first person to walk by. They are very generous with their excess as well. Needless to say I was quickly soaked.

Something far more annoying than wet crops is an over abundance of stinging nettles. Farmers are supposed to keep public footpaths across their land free and accessible…that's fine in theory but the practice means paths blocked by great acres of fresh and evil nettles. So by the time I'd traversed the four miles of fields I was saturated and stinging all over my legs and fingers. Walking is such a pleasure in Britain.

And another thing…I have this theory that farmers train their livestock to use the public footpaths as their exclusive toilets. There always seems more fresh manure on the paths than anywhere else in the fields. Great for strawberries, not so hot on hiking boots.

Finally I emerged onto a road near Paris Hilton…sorry, I mean Priors Halton and started to climb…and climb…and climb. Eventually I stood with my back to the Forestry Commission land and looked back at the fantastic view before me. I could see most of Shropshire I think. I had to sit and (recover) enjoy it for a bit before moving into the woods and making my way back to Ludlow. By the time I finished, I was completely dry but my legs were very, very itchy and blotchy and red.

Reaching Ludlow I decided to visit St Laurence, the big parish church. What a BIG place. It has a collection of the most amazing misericords. For the uninitiated, these are carvings on the underside of the choir stalls. In olden times, people were not allowed to sit and they'd just lean against these things so someone started carving them, giving the bottom a little purchase for those loooooong sermons. Anyway, the ones at St Laurence are brilliant.. I met a lady who is a steward there and she showed me her favourite. It is of Christ having been lifted from the cross, lying across Mary's knees. Absolutely beautiful. Actually this isn't a misericord, it's the end of a banister, but still.

There are 28 misericords at Ludlow, the most in any parish church. The carving seems to have been done in two phases. The first started about 1425 and the second was probably in around 1447 when the choir was extended. The subjects of the carvings are pretty amazing. From simple things like Yorkish roses to griffins and demons. Brilliant stuff.

Ludlow is also known for its tower so I just had to investigate. In order to get access, one has to approach the door steward for the key. I did so and was told to go and see the old woman at the cash register. I thanked him and did as I was told. She was a lovely lady who emphasised the fact that she had to turn the cash register off every time she left it - she got into trouble the last time she forgot. She took me to the base of the tower, telling me about the 200 steps and unlocking the door for me, carefully locking it behind me, leaving me alone with the gradual spiral up. A narrow staircase it is too!

But what a view! From the top you can see all around Ludlow, Shropshire, Britain…amazing. And I fortunately managed to pick the brightest sun-shiney day.

I slowly spiralled down the narrow staircase, dreading the appearance of some other tourists on their way up as there were few passing places! Fortunately I arrived at the door safely. I then thanked the old lady, made sure she'd turned the cash register back on and returned to the cottage

After a change of clothes, we left for the Hergest Croft Gardens, to the left of Leominster. The drive was fine until we hit the road works. Not sure what they were doing but one side of the road was closed for about five miles. The stop and go man had a go at us for travelling faster than ten miles an hour. The fact that we came round a corner and were suddenly confronted with him and his lollipop held little sway with him. Add to this the fact that the car in front did the same thing and suddenly slowed, causing us to, also negates his hastily shouted speed warning. Tosser.

Hergest Croft Gardens. It is here that Mirinda was hoping to see her favourite tree - the pocket-handkerchief tree (Davidia involucrate). Hergest apparently has the biggest and oldest in Britain. It took some doing but we managed to find it. In our defence there are a LOT of trees there and it's hidden in the middle. It was in full…I was going to say bloom but it's more of a tissue…and looked fantastic. Mirinda collected a fallen example of its hankies and pressed it into the guidebook.

The estate dates back 700 years, in fact the original manor house dates from 1267! It is said to be haunted by The Black Dog of Hergest! It wasn't anywhere to be seen but it was daytime. And we all know you just don't get zoobies during the day.

The garden was started by Richard William Banks after he moved to Hergest in 1857 but most of the work was created by his son William Hartland Banks. Along with his wife Dorothy Alford they truly began Hergest Croft. After they died their son took over, planting lots of maples and birches. It is now run by Lawrence Banks and his wife Elizabeth who have been tilling away since 1988.

Oddly enough the guidebook has forgotten to tell us how big the place is! How remiss. So that leaves me to guess. It was…well…at least…err…big…with lots of…big…trees.

Of particular note is The Avenue of Crates so named because when it was originally planted, crates were put around the seedlings so they weren't chewed up by any locals. The crates have long since gone and in there place is a long line of mature trees. We also liked the hidden croquet lawn, sheltered on all sides by a big hedge. Unfortunately there were no mallets to hand.

Apart from the obviously enjoyed garden, the teahouse is exceptionally weird. Apparently they make an awful amount of money and can afford not to serve people. We sat at our table for ages and Mirinda even went as far as going inside to enquire but to no avail. There were other people there and they had been served but apparently not us. Perhaps it's just Australians they don't serve. Who knows. Anyway, they didn't get any money out of us! So there!!

We then headed off cross country and once more through the road works to Lower Brockhampton. This is a National Trust property on the Herefordshire/Worcestershire border. It is a medieval moated manor house and is amazingly romantic and brilliantly photogenic. It sits in a massive 1,000 acres of farmland and 700 acres of woodland. There are tenants farming the estate and the whole place exudes the idyllic notion of rural countryside.

The manor house is a dream. You enter via a gatehouse which seems to have stepped out of a romantic novel. Apparently the roof beams between the ground and first floors were in danger of coming down so to preserve the building, the National Trust lifted the top storey and inserted big steel beams. This made the structure saafe and, at the same time, preserved the natural lean of the building! You honestly cannot see the join.

We were shown around the manor house by a kindly old gentleman who'd been volunteering for five years but still needed to refer to his crib sheet. As well as showing us the finer points of the house, he also demonstrated the secret compartments of John Ruskin's desk, which sits in one of the rooms, much to the delight of two little girls, one of whom swore that her sister didn't have a boyfriend (the sister was about four).

There was an old copy of The Times in one of the rooms, which declared that England had beaten the Aussies in the Ashes. The reporter was gloating. Apparently they still do this on occasion. The RARE occasion, anyway.

Next to the manor house is a ruined chapel. It's actually just the walls, the roof having gone long ago. The holes in walls are a mystery. Someone claims they could have had something to do with the civil war while others claim they were put there by farmers when the building was used as a cowshed. Another, possible explanation (this one from me) is that they could be squints. These were holes deliberately put into the walls so that the poor of the parish could have a perve on the nobles as they knelt to pray.

After buying an ice cream in the old stables, we collected Sidney and headed back to Ludlow.

Once back I popped up to the Bullring pub for a pint of Hobson's then we settled down for a nights telly.