Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie

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And the remedy lay in running away to the heart of England for a few days......


To sleep, perchance to dream....
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..not much perchance though. Ye olde world mattress did not fit ye olde world bed! This was probably the wonkiest pub in England but they did serve up possibly the best Glamorgan (leek) sausage I have ever tasted.

This was in Evesham, home of the 14thC Almonry (below) , where the Benedictine monks
distributed alms to the poor, and in later years where bread-stealing criminals cooled there heels in the stocks (which are still there, be warned louts with skateboards) ......
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Also the very beautiful Evesham Abbey that began life in 702AD after Eof, the swineherd, had a vision obviously other than the pigs in his care (clever Eof).
Evesham was also the place, in 1265, where Simon de Montfort (Norman cad) had his ass wopped by the forces of Henry III.
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All the world's a stage...
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This is the childhood home of William Shakespeare in Henley Street, Stratford-upon-Avon. I imagine that Mr Shakespeare would never have envisioned his house overrun by tourists nor that I would be accosted by Babs and Barb, two labelled American ladies, who thought I was nearly as cute as the Bard's birthplace (23rd April 1564).
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The Elizabethan buildings in Stratford are beautifully preserved. This is The Garrick Inn, one of the oldest pubs in the area. Shakespeare once lived opposite and Starbucks was very handily just up the road.
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The play's the thing
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The Royal Shakespeare Theatre, in Stratford, was the first theatre to be built in honour of His Wordiness in 1879. Most of it (except this bit) was destroyed by fire in 1926. Judging by the amount of building work going on they are still trying to put it right.
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Let every eye negotiate for itself
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My eye negotiated the map and found our next sleeping place, Bourton-on-the-Water, to be the fairest village in all the land (nice pub too). We were a little worried as Bourton lies between Upper and Lower Slaughter (I didn't ask).
We stayed in a guest house and were probably the youngest people there by about fifty years.
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Eye of newt and toe of frog
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Glastonbury Tor. The windy tower that lends itself to Arthurian legend, ladies in lakes, solstice shenanigans and earthy pagan rituals. No self respecting witch could pass the Somerset Levels and not call in to the spiritual home of all things mistyk. Glastonbury town is saturated with shops dedicated to the Gods, Goddess's' and a very tasty cake called Torsy Moorsy.
Did I shop?
Need you ask?

Home again. Thanks for the emails and no, I ain't dead. I just needed a break.

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