Slept in till 8, Mirinda till 8.30, then down to breaky for one more bout at the feeding trough. There was a brief moment of joy when some woman admired my legs. We were out by 10 and on the road home.
For a change we decided to stop for a cuppa in a small village off the main road rather than a lay-by. So we pulled into tiny Stockton, Wiltshire and wandered round St John the Baptist’s church.
St John’s, Stockton
Found out that ‘ton’ is a Saxon word for a collection of wooden houses and where our word ‘town’ comes from. It was not just an informative little church, it was also very peaceful, the perfect spot for a refreshing cup of coffee.
We set off again, singing along with Mirinda’s new compilation CD, stopping eventually at Odiham for a scrummy lunch at Next Door at the George.
Arrived home about 2.30 where I quite rapidly contracted flu – was in bed for the next 24 hours, dying.
