The end of the road


Coo, that was a bit terse last night. So tired my eyes were closing, though they opened wide again when the entire post was deleted and had to be redone. I’d tired myself not just with walking but with pie and pint in the George in Amesbury, a fine stablishment that caters to the town’s oddly lopsided population that skews to the male, all civilian subcontractors working for the military. Thus the carvery and pie catering. I hadn’t told the barman why I was in Amesbury so he was left to eye me with wonderment as potato after potato disappeared into the slim shortarse in the corner. Next morning woke early for the last, unmourned, fried plateful, and was on the road by half eight. By ‘the road’ I mean the bakery, buying lardy cake. Walked briskly, anxious to make good distance before the rain, but it never came, thank met office. A shower for about 30 minutes then a clear run home, to be met on lady down – in my unbiased opinion the loveliest view of the whole trip – by my father and a small bouncy dog called Rosie. Those five days far outstripped my already sanguine imaginings and I didn’t want them to end. Oh, and having eaten at least double my normal rations each day, I’ve still lost nine pounds


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