Chester

This morning we were up early raring to break out our Brompton bikes and hit the cycleway.

A hint of yellow on some nearby trees signalled the end of summer, where had the last few months gone?

We cycled along the old railway line to the nearby village of Long Marston, calling in at the village shop for a much-needed snack.

Aptly named the 'Poppin' the shop was typical of a store in a small community, friendly and welcoming. As Angela entered the shop a conversation was underway by three women of a similar age as to what was worse, a builder's bum or stomach. What did Angela think? After ten miles of cycling, we realised how much we'd missed it. In 2020 when Angela was sixty, we'd hoped to go on a cycling holiday in Europe. Looks like it might have to wait until she'd sixty-two now.

A quick lunch in Marge, accompanied by the peel of wedding bells from the nearby church of Holy Trinity, where William Shakespeare is buried and then conscious of travelling on a Friday afternoon on the M6 we set off for Chester. The traffic around Birmingham was hellish, and soon after we rerouted off the M6. As we approached Chester, we saw a sign for Malpas, where some forty plus years ago John's Uncle Dave had a restaurant.

We were so near we took a detour to take a look for old times' sake.

The traffic and detour meant our journey to Chester took nearly four hours, so we were pleased to settle Marge and walk out along the River Dee and back through the roman gardens.

Tomorrow we head up to Cumbria once we've visited John's daughter and her family.