On our down day, we decided to visit Burford, the delightful Cotswold traffic jam that stands between us and going anywhere. Burford is, of course, where our abortive holiday home was supposed to be, so we had to go and look.
You don't expect fine weather on a trip to the UK, and it's been changeable since we arrived. This morning it was cool, too cool for June, as I found out walking to the little Post Office and general store that sits between Shipton and Milton. The store itself was ultra-tidy inside, and the proprietor was quick to apologise for the lack of stock, given the small size of the place. It was very well stocked, as it happened. Armed with coffee, biscuits, and a £4.20 weekend newspaper, I walked back and felt the cool air.
Just a social comment, the good people of Shipton do like to use their bus stop as a parking place. Walking down to the shop I saw someone park there. Walking back, there was someone else in the bay. Entitled, I think.
Another social comment is that the village speed limit of 20mph is roundly ignored by the Range Rover class, as people were absolutely flying through the village. Not good.
By the time we set off for Burford it was raining, but we pressed on anyway. The little town was packed, and the car park, free I should mention, was full to the brim. Of course we had to see the holiday home that never was, and the big "For Sale" sign nailed to the front wall told the full story.
Burford is full of fancy shops. Art galleries, craft shops, tea rooms and cafes. The cars at the side of the road were all big and flashy, and the people milling around looked, for the most part, to be well heeled. An older couple gave the game away, with the man in his white trousers, pink jumper and tweed jacket, accompanied by his wife who was wearing a very expensive pair of designer glasses. That pretty much sums up Burford.
The place is full of pubs, but earlier investigations led me to think that none of them would work for me. Yes, I am the ultimate inverted snob, but all the pubs were serving up fancy fare, very expensive fare, and not one of them was offering a good old Cumberland Sausage and Mash dish, which is the mark of a good pub, isn't it? To add to my prejudice, Charlie was hankering for a plate of chips, but nowhere did anything like that, bar one pub, and I wasn't in the mood for sitting in a busy pub just to get chips. There are plenty of "Bacon Baps" to be had, but no chips.
We abandoned Burford, grateful that we weren't staying there. It appears that some things happen for a reason.
We nipped over to Carterton for chips from a proper chip shop. The shop of choice was just closing up for the afternoon, so we went to another. The family was not impressed, but I liked my salt and vinegar slathered chips.
Even though it was half an hour away, we drove over to Abingdon to the big Tesco, and to the Argos store to buy another suitcase. I have sounded like a stuck record warning Emma that she would have to get all her purchases home on the 'plane, but she hadn't listened and the new suitcase was the result. Fortunately we each have a two case allowance for our trip home, although quite where all these cases are going to go in the car is another matter.
Abingdon is familiar territory for me, and it hadn't changed much. The Argos was new, but in the same place as the old one, and the Tesco was just as big and busy as I remembered. We went in for a specific couple of items, and came out with bags filled, such is any shopping expedition these days.
Our evening was spent starting to reduce the food mountain that we'll never fully get through. I went to watch the TV and Charlie moved in on it, I went to read my newspaper, and that had disappeared, so it was back on the computer again. Oh, I love these down days.
