The most varied weekend for ages; that’s the best description for the last three days. We haven’t seemed to have to time to walk or cycle or even go out for the day recently, so the extra day afforded to us this weekend meant that we indulged ourselves a bit. Saturday was a job-enriched day, but relaxing all the same, but Sunday was altogether more relaxing, even though we cycled 28 miles.
We didn’t mean to of course, but plans to sit and watch the cricket at Little Waltham were left unfulfilled as we were too early or too late (people were on the pitch, but we couldn’t work out whether they were setting up or packing away), so we climbed back on our saddles and pedalled to Pleshey for a sun-soaked pint of cider in the beer garden of The Leather Bottle.
Refreshed and rested, we hatched plans to pop to Galleywood for a cup of tea and to rescue Sheila and Andrew from their Sunday jobs, and cycled the country roads to the Chignalls, before arriving back at Chelmsford. Heading through Admiral’s Park and then Central Park, we stayed on the ‘official’ cycle route to our destination, and arrived in need of more food and liquid refreshment.
Sitting in the garden really was idyllic and very much like summer, with the squirrels scampering across the lawn, the blue tits flying in and out of the bird box, and the horses peering over the fence, wanting treats of cheesy bread and sticky grass. Moving on before we got too settled, we cycled the six miles or so home, where we sat chatting to the chickens, drinking gin and nibbling nibbles.
Going into town for coffee, Bond-ing with Never Say Never Again (the most disjointed Bond film I’ve ever seen – probably because it wasn’t an official one at its time of release, although Barbara Carrera’s and the Renault 5 Turbo 2 performances more than make up for the weak bits) and planting the fist crop of herbs filled in the remaining hours of the three-day break.
Our last engagement of the long weekend was to be guests at Sue and Tom’s wedding last night. Duly smarted up, we spent an enjoyable three hours in Dartford, and although Sue’s married name will be Slack, that’s certainly something we haven’t been over the last 72 hours.