West Country Weirdness

The West Country has a magnetic field around it which becomes strongest as one approaches the area surrounding Stonehenge. This magnetic field was created back in the early Druidic days in order to prevent the rest of England invading the rolling hills, dales and coastlands of Dorset, Somerset, Devon and Cornwall in order to lollop around on gorgeous beaches, ramble amongst the woods and fields and pig out on cream teas and pasties. (More about pigs later. And possibly pasties.)

It is possible to break through this magnetic field, of course, but in order to do this one needs tenacity, patience, air conditioning, a sense of humour and a packet of chocolate caramel bisuits. Oh, and a camera, some reading material and an acceptance that your car will be powerless to go above 20 miles an hour for the last 100 miles of your journey.

So, a journey that Google Maps promised would take us 'three hours and twenty minutes' actually took us five hours and ten minutes. But it was okay. We only got mildly fractious with each other (it being our wedding anniversary and all) and once we'd stopped and taken the biscuits on board, tempers improved enormously thanks to the sugar rush.

'We're going past Stonehenge in five minutes,' I said, all excited because things like big rocks sitting randomly in a vast landscape are strangely alluring to me. I got out my camera, ready to snap away.
Andy said, 'As we drive past, shall I hold up my thumb and forefinger so it looks like I'm holding Stonehenge in my hand?'
'Yes,' I said, 'then I can take a photo of the look of surprise on your face as you ding the car in front.'

Anyway, half an hour later and we were still crawling towards Stonehenge. But we had biscuits by then and we'd also passed a huge field of pigs so I had entertained myself by taking piggie photos. I like seeing pigs in fields. They looked very happy, rolling around in the mud, sunbathing, playing chase. There's some happy bacon in the making, I thought.

And then Stonehenge loomed above us looking impressively surreal despite the hoards of tourists wandering around it. I took photos. Andy sulked because I wouldn't let him do entertaining 'holding Stonehenge' poses.

And on we went to Chard.

There's a funny place. It was shutting down as we arrived, but we went for a hopeful walkabout anyway. There were several benches dedicated to 'The Lace Riots' which brought to mind images of old ladies poking each other with crotchet hooks and slapping each other with antimacassars. Other than that, Chard consisted of hairdressers and strange independent shops with jigsaw puzzles for sale in their windows, the boxes faded and yellowing after years in the sun.

We did go past one cash point. Andy said, 'I must get some cash before we go to River Cottage tonight,' and as he approached the cashpoint a young chap appeared in an otherwise empty street and started faffing about getting his own cash.
'I'll stop on our way back to the hotel,' said Andy. 'Save us hanging about like a pair of muggers.'

On our way back, we approached the cashpoint. The street was empty. Andy reached for his wallet. And then a woman appeared from nowhere and nabbed the machine. So we walked past and loitered about fifty feet away. And when we turned back, there was a queue of five people at the cashpoint! A queue! In a street that had, until 30 seconds previously, been completely deserted!

We never did get the cash, but we did have a good laugh that the people of Chard are clearly determined to prevent 'outsiders' using their cashpoint!

And then we went to River Cottage. An experience that deserves a whole blog to itself.

This blog is dedicated to the memory of Mrs Poo, who died in the wee small hours of this morning. It was very sad.