So I was off to an early start at 7:30. It has all been pleasant walking through varied country, little villages and decent paths, but there are now more hills.
Sometimes I come across places or locations that I know something about but didn't realise I would be passing through, a case in point, the well known public school at Rendcomb. An impressive village built in a sort of Italian ornate style, and a delightful setting. There was a post office where I had a good coffee from a machine and a freshly baked chocolate au pain.
Further on I met a guy in his seventies walking three springer spaniels and a small terrier. He had a small van with a sliding side door for them to hop into, which they did very obediently - I reckon that wasn't his only car! He could have walked off the set as James Mason in The Shooting Party, fully rigged in outdoor country gear, and with that soft, husky, quiet civilised, understated voice emanating authority, and English reserve. He asked me where I was from and when I said Arnside he said "yes, I went to school there" which puzzled me because thee is no school in Arnside - it turned out his almer mater was Sedbergh. He was anxious for me to visit the Saxon church a hundred yards away which I did and sat in the porch eating the second instalment of my cheese and chutney sandwich breakfast.
I had several short rain bursts and one long one with the usual frustration of donning and doffing my waterproof.
My early start had me at The Crown Inn by 3:00 pm, and from what I have seen so far it looks like top of the list at this stage on my trip - an archetypal English pub, good food, good ale, live fires, and consideration for weary travellers.
This effluent collecting vehicle decided to back down here just as I arrived
Rendcomb and the post office where I had morning coffee.
Here was another mansion on the other side of the road owning what looked like about half a dozen Chelsea gardens thrown into one including this eccentric tennis court - nobody playing.
The Saxon church - date uncertain but at least a thousand years old
A well laid hedge. A lady passing by told me the owners had an Irish Wolfhound which necessitated strong barricades
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