Hedge Funds To Hedgerows

Since I last wrote, it’s been time for chores. `like taking my car to the beauticians to prepare for her new owner. It was sad to see the back of Penny but glad that she has a wonderful new home with Yoli. It was also great to see Purvi from New York. It’s nice when you can connect with someone having really only known them for literally 10 minutes. It was great to discuss future plans and see Purvi in action teaching pilates. Her New York style is a bit different from what I’ve seen over here. It’s faster and really focused and I like it a lot!

Thursday had arrived and what else is there to do in the world but to discover new places and have new experiences. With that as my goal, it was off to Prague. I’ve never been to the Czech Republic before so really, that was all the excuse that I needed.

I know there hasn’t been a “Question Of The Day” for quite some time now so it’s perfect time to have a special one off. How many tourists can you fit into a public square? Now of course I really don’t have the exact answer to that. It’s a bit like asking how long a piece of string is, but if you wanted to solve the puzzle, a good place to start would be the Old Square in Prague during Summer. It’s when you find yourself in these environments that you realise why all those far-flung and empty countries you love so much seem so attractive. Perhaps Spring and Autumn are better times to come. That is perhaps not overly fair because Prague in itself is really very charming. Of course it is very very similar to all those other Austro-Hungarian cities like Zargreb and Vienna with its coloured buildings which have possibly more windows than necessary, but it has a look that is all its own as well. And that could be another question worth asking. How many windows can you put in one building? The facades of a lot of the buildings seem just like perforated concrete and one wonders how they remain standing! (Well….not really, but you know what I mean.) The combination of the steepled skyline, old and colourful buildings and statue encrusted bridges does make for a photographer’s dream and even a rubbish photographer like me can take a photo that looks like a painted work of art.

I arrived in Prague early afternoon and after an easy public commute into the centre of town and laying eyes on my “hotel”, I knew it was time to go into, “this is an adventure” mode. If you can think of the entrance and reception of the worst backpacker’s hostel you’ve stayed at and then worsen it by about 10, well that’s what greeted me at my ” three star hotel”. Then I was told there was a little problem. Oh great. Here we go. They had, “water issues” but they would give me a room in the basement and take 25% off the room rate. I took a look at the windowless, tiny bunker with its water stained and mould covered walls. Let’s face it, it was only going to be one night and for £24…….. I’ll take it! Oh dear. This is when I started to think, “What has my life become????” But let’s face it, five star all the time would be boring. Nice to mix it up a bit. Having said that, I can’t remember the last five star experience! Time to hit the streets and first stop was the very close old square (yes, with ALL those tourists!) to see the famous astronomical clock. The clock, or Orloj, was built in 1410. It has spent quite a bit of its life broken but is full working order now and looks as brand new as ever. The area’s surrounding shops take you back to times of old Bohemia with cute cafes and many marionette shops. I’ve never been a puppet person myself, but there is a charm and oldness about the ones you find here. As if their little wooden faces have experienced many eras and have a few stories to tell, but stories unrevealed unless a bond is created. They could take you back to a time now gone. Something else that can do this is the sight of an Absinthe cafe. Probably quite literally! The “green fairy” helped many a Bohemian artist in her day such as Toulouse- Lautrec and Van Gough. And who can resist a few Absinthe chocolates? Could that possibly be the perfect combination?!?!

Next it was off to find Charles Bridge. with its many arches and statues. This takes you to the opposite side of the Vltava River where can be found the famous castle, the site of which has been residence to leaders since Roman times and still there are remains of a church from the 800s which can be seen. To be honest, and this may be harsh, I was a little underawed upon first viewing. It is actually not the palace itself that is so “pretty” but rather the gothic cathedral inside the palace, St Vitus. With its flying buttresses, gargoyles and huge rose window, it is reminiscent of that “other” famous cathedral in Paris. It is still an amazing piece of architecture though and big enough that it’s hard to fit into your camera’s viewfinder. What was more lovely to me perhaps was sitting in a Bohemian cafe drinking tea and eating Absinthe chocolates. Simple pleasures. I even found myself a little later on in another church listening to another organ recital. What is it with me and organ music latley??? To be honest, I think it’s a wonderful thing to do in a city like Prague. And there are lots of concerts to choose from at reasonable prices. You could go to a different one every night during Summer.

Later it was back to the hotel (I left it as long as possible!!) via Wenceslaus’ Vineyard. Yes, he’s the same guy from the famous Christmas Carol and was duke in these parts between 921-935. I stopped off to pick up some water and sardines for dinner. I know, I don’t know why I was craving sardines either. And I thought ring pulls on these things were global. But, having unwrapped the paper, I discovered this is not the case. So, with penknife in hand, I attacked until its contents were mine!!

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They say you should never run a marathon before a marathon. Yesterday was the warm up. Today was the marathon. Seeing that walking has now become somewhat of an addiction, it was good to get a good solid walk in today. It was going to be a nice 10 miler, nothing too crazy, but a nice day’s hill work. We caught the train to nearby Milford to immerse ourselves in the Surrey Hills, Devil’s Punch Bowl and back to Hazelmere. The walk was pretty and very varied from roads to woods to burnt heathland to gullies. There seems to be just one piece of “interesting” history in this area and that is the story of a sailor who bought three strangers a few pints at a pub. Later the rogues murdered the friendly chap and as a result they were hanged in chains near Devil’s Punch Bowl. This happened in 1786. That’s the best they can do in 224 years of happenings. Sleepy little place. Devil’s Punch Bowl gets it’s name from the story of the devil scooping up the earth here to throw at Thor, the god of thunder. Why the devil actually wanted to do this and when he did it is a mystery. Maybe someone could investigate.

The walk home took us past Yoli’s sister’s allotment and an inevitable feast of green and glorious food stuffs was thoroughly enjoyed. Walking in nature and eating food fresh from the organic garden. This is heaven. Genevieve is Mother Nature personified, so not only is her allotment amazing, but so is her garden. If you ever wanted to know what the Garden of Eden was like in berry season, this is where you need to be. Strawberries, blackberries, raspberries, black currents, red currents, logan berries. Enough said. It doesn’t get any better.

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You can only try to go back to sleep for so long. Right. Let’s get this done! Finally, flight home was booked. Not the ideal date, but I really wasn’t in the ideal negotiating position. The airlines were always going to have the upper hand.

Next it was time to head down to Surrey to find birthday girl Yoli. Yoli had just become the new owner of a camper van, and the plan was to drive down south to play with the new purchase. A change of plan meant that instead we drove to the camper van shop to sort out the essential kit and then onto nearby Frensham for a walk in the country. If you wanted a foreigner who had never been to England to experience what would be a stereotypical English countryside setting, Surrey would be the place to send them. Picture perfect. No recession here either! We stumbled upon a gorgeous old church built in 1219 and as fortune would have it, there was an organ recital on at 19:30. Yoli learnt the organ at school and nostalgia dictated that we must surely stay for the performance. It was 19:00, and not having eaten for hours, two charming old ladies drove us to a local cafe, food was bought and scoffed and the performance enjoyed.

Our walk back to the van afterwards was like a scene from an eerie horror movie, with mists descending on wooded pathways, the yellow eyes of foxes watching our passage. But, you’ll be glad to know we made it in one piece and even had the fortune of seeing a little hedgehog waddle off to a favourite hiding place. They’re not a common sight.

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Though the walk had finished, our routine was not to waiver, so we were up at 07:00, breakfast at 08:00 and off at 09:00. Military precision. It was a four hour drive back to London, a little longer when you go via Northallerton to see what all the fuss is about. We still don’t know even though we did a flyby of the place. Basically it’s the closest “biggish” town to a few of the little villages we stayed at. We had heard it mentioned too many times not to be a tad curious about it.

The trek back to London was broken up with a loo stop at a motorway service centre. We were shocked to find that, getting out of the car after just two hours of sitting resulted in us nearly collapsing face first onto the pavement as our legs decided to cease up. We were walking like cowboys for the next 10 minutes. It makes you realise how amazing the human body is to have got up day after day to walk. Now that it had stopped, it was really going to stop. But then, a couple of hours later it was fine again. Quick recovery. Amazing bit of machinery.

Back in London and our turnaround at our Heathrow hotel was quite fast as we had a theatre appointment to keep in town. As the rain poured down, we contemplated the best mode of transport. Public bus to the airport and then tube in didn’t look that inviting in this weather. Luckily we found a lovely German man to share a cab, so the Universe provided once again.

I know parts of London quite well, but I still struggle sometimes with how it all fits together and what is close to which place etc. So it turns out that Westminster Bridge isn’t as close to South Bank as was once thought and that South Bank is actually more than a five minute stroll to London Bridge. I actually designed the 45 minute or so power walk on purpose though. I mean, now that we are elite athletes with finely tuned bodies, you can’t just suddenly stop the exercise. We did reach the theatre in time (phew!) and were treated to a brilliant performance of Aspects of Love. Why this Andrew Lloyd-Webber musical never took off like some of his others is beyond me. It’s truly super. And this production was as intimate and as perfect as you could hope for.

Larging it up getting into London meant that it was back to reality for the home trip. Piccadilly Line all the way.

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A pair of walking shoes: £60. One backpack: £50. Pub meals every night: umm….can’t remember but we paid way too much, I’m sure. Smelling the sea breeze as The North Sea comes into view: PRICELESS.

Sixteen days. Two hundred miles. Fells and dales. England traversed from the Irish Sea to the North Sea. We made it. An ok effort for a 37 year old. Brilliant effort for a 70 year old. No blisters. No whinging. Not too many wrong turns. I think we did alright.

It may have been the last day, but old AW was not going to let us off lightly and allow for a leisurely stroll in Robin Hood’s Bay. Oh no. We were going to have to work for that honour. And that work was going to start right off the bat. The day’s 15.5 miles (34kms) began with a steep and steady climb out of Grosmont which saw us on our way and back onto moorland. The next little village on the trail was Little Beck. My kind of town! I knew there had to be some place somewhere in the world named after me. The spelling may not have been quite right, but lets not quibble over details. It’s hard to imagine the importance of the place during the booming alum mining times, with just a few little houses making up the village today. Over the River Esk and a right turn saw us into Little Beck Wood, a very picturesque meander. Hansel and Gretel kind of territory. AW had taken us a bit out of our way going here, but I thought it was worth it, although Whitby had been in our sights all day and we had been disappointed not to have had the opportunity to visit the town made famous by Captain Cook. Some (not mentioning any names here….Mum) may even go to the extent of calling the old man “dopey” for not having the coast to coast walk go more directly from Grosmont straight to Whitby and finish there. Would have saved us 10 miles and quite a few hills. But like I said, AW was to make us earn our rite to the title of Coast to Coasters. The forest walk was to take us past such interesting little curios as the Hermitage built in 1790. It is really just a hollowed out boulder with a mysterious past. Another little structure with perfect acoustics. The couple walking up the path behind us said the sound they heard emanating from The Hermitage was beautiful. They may have been just being polite, but they looked like honest folk.

Next it was onto the tea room hidden in the forest, but low and behold it was closed!! We did get a good view of the very elegant Falling Foss though. This is a fairy-like waterfall, perfect and cute.

Another big hill climb saw us out of the forest and back onto the moors. The first part was easy enough, but the further we went, the worse the way markers got. Now, some people may call our next situation something along the lines of getting a tad lost. I, on the otherhand like to call such situations an adventure. An adventure along the busy A171 rather than the idillic fields. Of course the path was taken on purpose. I know how much Mum had enjoyed the A19 crossing, so I wanted to give her another similar experience before the walk was over. We got to Hawsker in one piece (just!), so I really don’t see what the problem was. I’m sure Mum will continue to show me where I went wrong for the next year or five.

All that was now left to do was track through a caravan park to make it to the actual coastline. Woo hoo! A few trekkers (well, one in particular) were heard complaining that the coast was not as pretty as Australia’s and why on earth do we need to walk along it. It was really quite fine and photogenic with plenty of wild blackberries to be found, which slowed progress a little. So yummy! The many hills also slowed our weary feet, but then, there it was in view. Robin Hood’s Bay!! Not the prettiest of sites but a very welcome one indeed. One last big decent saw us in the tiny town with its winding lanes. It was a lot prettier up close. We walked to the beach and were surprised to be “welcomed” by about a thousand English and their dogs. We’d never seen so many people in such an average seaside setting. It was quite funny. I’m not quite sure why the phrase, “Mad dogs and Englishmen” came to mind at this point. Hmmmm. After a quick giggle, it was time to officially end our walk by throwing our pebbles from the Irish Sea at St Bees into the North Sea and getting our feet wet. We didn’t realise how very very fast the tide comes in here and our abandoned backpacks also received a watery blessing. But by this time we were unperterbed. Tradition then says that you have to make your way to the cliffside Bay Hotel, walk into Wainright’s Bar and have a drink. Can you believe they don’t serve champagne by the glass here??? Being lightweights, a bottle was not within our capacity, so we had to settle for a spirit and a cider. There’s also a special book in the bar which everyone who walks the Coast to Coast signs. It was interesting to see the names of some fellow walkers, and wonder at the whereabouts of a few others. And there, just like that, our adventure was over. Mission complete. But then, tomorrow is another day. Perhaps this is just the beginning! More than likely, I think.

We had to catch a bus back to Richmond to pick up the car and it was a little disconcerting to cover the ground that had taken a week to walk in just two hours. We passed many familiar places. It was a bit like dying and watching your life flash before your eyes. But backwards. As we passed Roseberry Topping, which has become a bit of a favourite landmark, it took us all our time not to get the driver to stop the bus and allow us a quick accent. Oh well. Maybe next time. Good to know our enthusiasm is still there!

Great Ra was to desert us for the first part of our journey today, but his dismissive and aloof antics were soon forgiven as the great god returned to partake in our journey for the rest of the day, providing what was possibly our best weather yet.

As per our set routine, we headed off at about 09:00 to walk right around Blakey Ridge along the road. It’s desolate but at the same time beautiful. Sites of interest on the way included Young Ralph’s Cross. Ok, so it wasn’t directly en route, but a quick jog up the road allowed for a few photos before jogging back to find Mum. There’s a great story associated with this tall, thin cross. A young bloke called Ralph used to act as a guide to the nuns at the local priory, leading them safely across the empty moors. One day whilst out walking, he noticed a hand sticking up out of the snow. Digging to save the poor soul, Ralph found the dead body of a local workman known to him. Unfortunately the man had stopped to rest and had fallen asleep in the snow, just a few miles from the safety of The Lion Inn. So as to prevent any similar outcomes in the future, Ralph erected the cross to help travellers find their way to the inn. There is also a hollow in the top of the cross where rich folk can leave money for their poorer counterparts so that food and shelter may be theirs. However, legend dictates that if you are wealthy and take the money, a horrid ending will be yours as you are engulfed in the mist of the moors to be lost forever!

The next landmark was Fat Betty, a stout white cross that stands just off the road. The head of the cross is an ancient wheelhead, possibly Norman and only one of two found on the North York Moors. Tradition requires travellers to leave and take a snack or sweet. There was nothing there for us to take, but we did leave a revolting Tracker chocolate bar. Just doing our bit……and getting rid of the rubbish food that you often find in packed lunches from B&Bs.

We next turned off in the direction of Fryup and Fryup Dale. I know more than one person who I’m sure was born there. Not looking at any particular Man Investments traders or anything!! Back on the moors, the guaranteed views of the North Sea were not to be ours today with too much haze about, even though the rain had stopped by this stage and the waterproofs were safely back in our packs. There were a couple of lovely little crofts to admire though. They blend in so perfectly with their moorland surrounds.

Soon we were back on the road and heading into Glaisdale. The cute little village was enjoying siesta while we were there, so we sat quietly by the war memorial and ate our lunch. On our way out of town we passed the gate of a property on which was attached a sign advertising the inhabitants skills. The sign read, “Builders and Joiners Funeral Directors”. We couldn’t work out whether the provider of services was multi skilled or whether you get the full treatment before you’re buried. A gentleman drove into the property as we stood laughing. Woops. Mum thought he looked like the living dead anyway, so perhaps he was a full service provider.

We next passed Beggar’s Bridge, a gorgeous stone construction built in 1619. Norbert was feeling adventurous and it was the perfect place for a bungee jump, so two boot laces later, and Norbert’s dream came true. Of course the death defying leap was captured on film. Stay tuned for the pictures!

A lovely walk through the woods by the Esk River lead us to the hamlet of Egton Bridge. There were some super nice houses here and both Mum and I had ours picked out. Opposite sides of the river. The church of St Hadda is well worth a visit. The outside of the building has a row of gorgeous frescoes adorning it and the acoustics inside are perfect for a rendition of certain songs………so I’ve heard. 😉

An old toll road took us the final 1.5 miles into the night’s destination of Grosmont, a village famous for its railway connections. If you like a steam engine, this is the town for you. “Train enthusiast” isn’t a classification that I’ve ever used to describe myself, but who can resist a ride on Hogwart’s Express? Not Mum or me, that’s for sure, and as luck would have it, the old engines made famous in the Harry Potter movies had a timetable that fitted in with ours, so a spontaneous 2.5hr train journey to Pickering and back was enjoyed. A nice, relaxing reward for having walked 14 miles (that’s a huge 31kms!) in 6 hours.

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Not much to say about today. We only walked for four hours, a distance of nine miles. We had a good uphill climb early but the rest of the time was flat as you like as we followed a track that had been a railway line in a previous life. I don’t mean to sound deflating as that wouldn’t be fair. It was a splendid little walk. It just didn’t feel like we’d done enough to deserve our end goal, The Lion Inn on Blakey Ridge. This is a desolate part of the world with nothing but nothingness all around. Quite lovely really!

The first part of our walk saw us again on The Cleveland Way, but it wasn’t long before it turned left and we continued straight along, taking our lead from the old rail line which was in operation between 1856 to 1929, transporting ironstone from the mines to the flourishing area of Rosedale, on the the other side of Blakey Ridge. Five miles later and The Lion Inn (fourth highest Inn in England. Tan Hill, which we passed near Keld is the highest) was in our sites. This is an impressive image from a distance, just perched on a hill in the middle of the wuthering moors. And they really were wuthering today. There’s really not a lot out here besides strong wind and grouse. Trying to take good photos of grouse is not so easy as they blend in so well with the undergrowth. Mum thought that yelling out “bang” would get them to take off. I don’t think she sounded enough like a gun though. They didn’t move.

Evidence shows that there’s been habitation around The Lion Inn since prehistoric times. Then some homeless friars got their hands on the area during the reign of King Edward III and built an inn to bring a bit of coin in between 1553-1558. Since then, it’s been a corn market and again an inn, enjoying prosperity during the heady mining days. Today, the trade comes from walkers and other tourists. It’s not so impressive from the outside, but inside there is plenty of atmosphere to be had with low wooden beams and cozy corners. Reminded me of Jamaica Inn in Cornwall.

The nicest surprise came to us tonight in the form of Roz and Kath, travelling companions from part one of the walk. They live close and dropped in to Blakey Ridge to have dinner with us, just on spec. They were welcome guests indeed, bringing laughter as well as yummy supplies. Great to see you, girls! Having said our farewells, I wandered off to play with my camera, making the most of the fading light over the desolate, silent, misty moors.

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Today’s section of walk was to provide with the type of terrain we like the best…..undulating. Actually, that’s a bit of an understatement as the North York Moors provide you with quite a bit of gradient, and a super pretty walk.

We left Osmotherley to the sound of church bells and rejoined the Coast to Coast/Cleveland Way via the Lyke Wake Walk. Yes, confusing, but basically the three walks became one for today’s amble. The forest before the moors was the type where you’d expect to run into Robin of the Hood and a few of his posse. They were nowhere to be seen today on the steep climb to Live Moor. We did see a memorial sign for Bill Cowley though. Mum’s shocked statement of, “Oh! Did he die?!” made me think that she knew who he was. But no. Sorry…this probably doesn’t sound funny, but we were in stitches for the next five minutes. Small things, perhaps.

The moors are beautiful this time of year with the dense covering of purple heather in full bloom. It was almost like walking through wild lavender fields. Almost. The elevation of Carlton Moor lent itself to some super views, and on a less hazy day, we would have been able to see our final destination, The North Sea. But today we had to be satisfied with rolling fields and cottages, Middlesborough, Roseberry Topping (cool name, huh?!) and Captain Cook’s monument (one for the Aussies). Next was a steep decent at the bottom of which was Lord Stones Cafe. Although quite a modest little dwelling, it proved a popular and busy stop for walkers, cyclists, motor bike riders and Sunday drivers alike. The day’s obligatory cup of tea was had before continuing on our way. Another steep climb got us to Kirby Bank on Cringle Moor before our path would divert slightly to take us to tonight’s accommodation at Great Broughton, rather than onto Clay Bank Top which is the next town on the Coast to Coast. Just so you know that we didn’t cheat though, I should mention that we did continue on further up the main track so to visit Wain Stones. This is a rocky outcrop on the top of Hasty Bank which was a bit of a favourite with Wainright. Supposedly they look like cake decorations. Really? Is that what cake decorations look like?? Who on earth came up with that description?? It was probably Prince Charles again. Nothing is better than scrambling up big boulders so, being the kid that I am, I was in my own little “playground”. Thanks Mother Nature!

Next we back tracked to get on the trail to Great Broughton. It was a lot further than we thought. And then with another final big decent in boggy ground before a big tramp through farmyards, we agreed that surely we’d added at least another five mile to our walk today. Perhaps we should have gone to Clay Bank Top and waited for the complementary lift. But that just wouldn’t have be right, now would it?!

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Mum and I are starting to have a bit of a giggle to ourselves about how “remote” everything is out here. If you talk to the locals, where they live is just so remote. Not close to anything. A million miles away from civilisation in any way, shape or form. People!! You are only six hours away from London let alone the major city that’s probably just an hour down the road! You are not remote!!! I’ll give you “isolated”, but probably only in the middle of Winter when you get snowed in for a few weeks, but that’s all I’m giving you.

After a home meal, sleep and lots of tiger balm (I LOVE tiger balm), this morning saw us renewed, on track and ready to rock and roll. I love a good recovery. The only down was that the first part of today’s section was flat road. Again!! Have I mentioned how much we dislike flat roads? Dear God please give us a hill! Just a small one will do! The flat roads are so hard on your joints and muscles. Grassed hills are softer on the feet and stretch and use different muscles.

We found a little “basket shop” at Northfields Farm. When I say basket shop, I mean a little basket on a table with a selection of water, chocolates, crisps and bananas. Honour system with the money. Mother was able to purchase her cheapest lunch yet…..80p.

There’s always something on the second part of the coast to coast walk that reminds you that you’re not too far from civilisation, and today we were to encounter a few of these constructions. The first was a train track. A big, wide train track. You literally have to run across and hope no trains come, and the trains were actually quite frequent. Well, a couple an hour at least. That’s kind of frequent. The next obstacle was a little further up the road. The A19. Mum’s been looking forward to this crossing the whole walk. Being only an A road as opposed to a motorway, it doesn’t qualify for an overhead pedestrian bridge. You just have to pick your break then run and pray as you tackle the four lanes and 70 mile/hour traffic. It’s at this point that you hope your legs don’t give out, and having been just on flat roads, legs forget how to work properly anymore. The track leading up to the A19 was used as a training alley where a few short sprints and training jumps were employed to get things moving again. They seem to work for Usain Bolt on the telly anyway. May as well give them a try! Fellow Dutch walkers told us that the road crossing would be illegal in The Netherlands and they’d be locked up. Probably most countries would result in the same outcome. But then there’s England. Bless.

Soon we were in Ingleby Cross. Some of the tougher and more determined walkers would have walked this far yesterday instead of overnighting at Danby Wiske. Knowing how we had felt yesterday, we were glad we hadn’t been one of them. Lunch was enjoyed in a tiny square in the middle of crossroads. Not the most private place for a bite. We felt like we were on show. A whole swarm of the tiniest insects decided to help us out as well. Great. Our fellow Dutch walkers told us that in their home, these meant an afternoon storm. The theory proved correct for this country as well.

Just a short walk down the road and, heaven be blessed, we found a hill!! Hurrah!! The climb up through the pine forest saw all our aches and pains melt away and made me realise how much more hill work I’ll be doing with horses from here on in. The forest track we found ourselves on brought images to mind of Dick Turpin and his faithful Black Bess, but thankfully today saw us enjoy a safe passage.

Our luck with the weather has been quite good over the last week or more. We’ve given up on trying to find the sun and are just happy if it doesn’t rain. Our luck ran out this afternoon and our waterproofs were pulled out once more. To be fair though, it didn’t last that long and we really haven’t used used the wet weather gear for any length since Lakeland. It had to happen at some point. Soon we found ourselves on The Cleveland Way which will be our path for tomorrow, but for now it was just a short acquaintance before we turned off to find the village of Osmotherley where we were to spend the night. Osmotherley is a pretty little village with cute stone cottages, once used to house flax mill workers. There’s an old village square where you can find a stone table believed to have once acted as a preaching platform for John Wesley. I’m always partial to a bit of preaching myself, so I just had to have a go. The village also boasts the oldest methodist church in the country. Makes sense.

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