Wednesday 24th April


We now have a series of expired loaves of brown bread to negotiate. One "expired" last week, the other yesterday. 

"Nothing must be wasted." 

We now also have a week old salad and hardening tinned puke to go with it!

Rationing ended in the UK 49 years ago. 

I fix the basin with the exponential gurgle. A bamboo cane from the garden is requisitioned to rod out a couple of years' worth of guests' hair from the drain. This will make the mornings less irksome.

Broadway TowerBroadway Tower

Broadway VillageToday's lunchtime treat is held at Broadway Tower. Broadway empty in morning but soon fills up in afternoon coaches of tourists. 

The village is pleasant enough - Jolly likes the slow drive through the town. 


From the tower there are 14 counties visible, although not today, another sunny day but too hazy. 

Here's the official list, held by the good soul in the tower, not in any publication, digitally transferred to this very page!


Clockwise from North:

  1. West Midlands
  2. Staffordshire
  3. Warwickshire
  4. Leicestershire
  5. Northamptonshire
  6. Buckinghamshire
  7. Wiltshire
  8. Gloucestershire
  9. Bath & North Somerset (Formally Avon)
  10. Gwent
  11. Herefordshire
  12. Worcestershire
  13. Dyfed
  14. Shropshire

The day warms up. 22C the gauges in the car announce. We have toasted sandwiches with the goats and rabbits at the tower picnic site.

I lead Jolly Molly to the Ladies toilet - "It's so warm - I've still got my winter vest on!" she proclaims.

The 20 or so visitors enjoying their lunch smirk.

Jolly Molly strikes up a conversation with a fellow reliever in the toilet.

"How did she know I still had my winter vest on?" Jolly recounts as I lead her away. 

I propel her to an isolated bench hidden in the trees with instructions not to speak to anyone or anything whilst I go and inspect Broadway Tower.

Cousin Arthur was not in. Sir Arthur Evans lived at the tower in the early 1930's. Of course he's not in - he died in 1941 for one thing. The tower was not his only home, but an escape from life in Oxford. I imagine he enjoyed life here.

I drive Jolly Molly back to Bishops Cleeve via some delightful villages.

The good thing about a GPS is that you can't get lost. Set a waypoint as destination and lazily follow the arrow - no wrong turns.

Evesham Bell TowerEvesham

I return to Evesham - lazing in the sun in Abbey Park, stuffing myself on Cornish pasties from a local bakers, reading a book.


The Apple Tree a few minutes up the road is host for this evening's soiree.  Jolly Molly is horrified that her little baby does eat up all his greens. (Too many pasties!) A couple of pints of Whirlygig beer. OK!

We return to the bungalow. A phone call almost put in an apostrophe before the 'p' in phone there. I must not be with old people!  from Jolly Molly's elder son. A full explanation of the days activities was recounted - though she wasn't sure why on earth Niccy went back to Evesham.

"...and he didn't finish up his dinner. I hope he's alright." she clucked. 

The phone was passed to me. I continued with a fuller description to my brother. Loudly and plainly so our mother would not be left out. I included several farm animals in my fictitious activities in Evesham, and a complete and accurate report on my recent bowel evacuation preformed barely 3 minutes before he called.

See how the stress is getting to me! Soon be over. Only two more days to go.

After a shower I relax a bit. Another game of Scrabble.... and coffee...

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