The Egerton Arms, Chelford
It is a cold and misty morning with not a lot to see. Farmers are busy rushing around in their tractors pulling huge muck-spreaders behind them. I crossed the M6 motorway and stood and watched for a few moments as the whole of Britain seemed to charge beneath my bridge, supposedly separated by two chevrons.
They all have somewhere pressing to get to at all costs. I feel strangely alienated from this culture - an outsider looking over the parapet at an unreal world. My world is in the bubble that the mist allows me and it seems okay.
I arrive at the pub as they are opening the doors. It is a big place - a town pub out in the country. A strange place, but with a good selection of beers. The Theakstons bitter was okay - I shall try their Black Sheep next. There is the relentless background music playing away; nothing to offend or challenge, nothing to celebrate either. It is desperately trying not to offend at all costs and in doing so has become sterile and plastic, which is a shame as the staff are warm, friendly and efficient. They deserve better.
Ten miles or so to do this afternoon if I can get my body to get up & go - it seems to have got up and gone without me at the moment. Perhaps this black sheep will sort it out. It must be the weather...