Today involved a repetitive sequence of putting on and taking off layers of clothes and rain gear. This is a time consuming operation, which when repeated too many times in a day to count, becomes quite tiresome. Why, you may ask, not leave on all the rain gear even when it is not raining? I will tell you why: it is uncomfortable. Then there is the judgment of how many layers to wear underneath the raincoat because you can get cold pretty fast if you get it wrong or you can be uncomfortably warm if you get it wrong the other way. Anyway, that was this kind of day.
I was hours ahead of Alex and Alex because inter alia, Alex had lost his umbrella, so had to solve that problem before leaving and of course I set out hours earlier anyway.
Fortunately, the route was not difficult because directional signs such as this:
do not help.
Oh, man, this gate was held together by a string and a song:
Very nicely, I said, "Hello, ladies, may I please pass?"
And they let me pass.
En route there was a garden to see in Bourton-on-the-Hill, which is on a hill as opposed to Bourton-on-the-Water, which we have discussed before, but in case you forgot, is on the water. Anyway, this garden was modest compared to Hidcote and Hiftsgate, but there were some pretty specimens:
And some charming fountains (or maybe ponds):
One most attractive elements was a series of benches with ivy covered sides and backs:
But if you prefer your repose without all the extras, you can sit here instead:
There was also an art exhibit at the Bourton garden center:
What I want to know is who framed those paintings?! Muy feo! And now that I look at these paintings again, they are no great shakes either; they did carry hefty price tags.
What is a day's walk without some warnings to keep you on your toes?
You know, I really have to learn to "obey." "Why is that sign right in my path?" I wondered. Could it be wordlessly saying, "You see that path just to the right in exactly the direction you want to go is not the correct path?"
Yes, it could.
Arrived in Moreton-in-Marsh, from now on referred to as Moreton, to discover, on Google maps that:
look closely now and you will see that it was as busy as it gets! Indeed, it was market day and there was a lot of activity on the High Street. This hullabaloo did not help in my search for the accommodation, which I knew was on the High Street, which is like saying it is on Whitney Avenue. What to do? Well, there is a real information center in this town, so I started there. They could not help, but they were very nice. Then I went to the furniture store that the proprietor owns, only on Tuesdays they are open by appointment only. I did not have an appointment, but I knocked on the door. And guess what? A woman came to the door. She directed me thus, "Go to the end of the block; there is a coffee shop there, turn right, then turn right again and you will find it." I went to the corner, turned right twice, and may I say that it was raining quite vigorously at the time, but no Old Foresters Cottage. Turned around, went back to the store, knocked again, and a different woman came to the door, "No no no. That is not that way. You continue up the street in the opposite direction until you reach the school; it is right there." Then the first lady reappeared, apologized, and offered to buy me lunch tomorrow. The Air B and B, was not quite "right there," nor was the sign over the door as advertised; it was in a window, at the bottom, and quite small, but find it I did, and it is quite nice. By this time I was cold, wet, and worn out. A hot shower with genuine hot, not lukewarm trying to pass for hot, but hot water felt so good!
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