DAY 3
No English breakfast at Koloshi – Indian boiled eggs, toast, cereal and a good coffee. Never forget the gaffa tape ! Today it is the difference between moving or not. Gary’s knee is now held together with half a roll of grey duct tape – it’s working well and we’re away.

Up through the Lineover Woods, over the stile, through the gate, across the field, down through another deep shady wood, over several stiles, through gate after gate across the fields of either barley or shoulder high stinging nettles and blackberries which brush against us leaving their calling cards of red welts. The au-naturale amenities with privacy only behind said stinging nettles has delivered burning welts in unmentionable places…

up Wistley Hill, down to Seven Springs, up Hartley Hill, up Leckhampton Hill – found the Devil’s Chimney

with amazing views over Cheltenham and the miles of valleys below – and down into Ullenwood.

With no sign of civilisation in sight, lunch was becoming a forbidden thought until we popped out of the trail at a sign to Star Bistro – a training facility for young people with special needs and various disabilities – it was the best meal! Asian beef salad, goats cheese omelette, wonderful home made bread and really good coffee AND toilets!
On our way … Up and along Crickley Hill country park with some lovely new friends – the chat and laughter made the uphill miles seem much shorter.

Up Crickley Hill … the sound of Traffic and the sight of the Air Balloon pub  meant that we needed to navigate a highway crossing – strange indeed and seemed to belong in another reality – curious indeed.

Up and up to the Peak and at last Birdlip – from the ancient “Bride Leap”?? – is in sight … Now – daylight holds out until at least 10.30 but we were fading fast and the Feather Pub was a welcome sight indeed. After some much needed refreshment we were whisked by taxi to St Anne’s B&B in Painswick. Our faithful luggage was always magically there to greet us. A quick shower – retro fitted into a wardrobe – we were careful not to go through the back of the wardrobe for fear of unwittingly going beyond! – our neighbours’ wardrobe was even smaller and they had great trouble manoeuvring in the confined space.

Tea at The Falcon – delicious – looking out over the topiaried Yew trees in rows in the clipped lawns – I’m sure that I could hear the vociferous Queen of Hearts’ “Off with her head!” through the pouring rain, but I couldn’t be sure.

DAY 2
A quick but full English breakfast at Wadfield Farm then a dash up at the edge of the woodland past the Cotswold Lions (secretly, they are sheep with terrible shaggy dreadlocks of fine wool)

to the skeletons in the long barrow at Belas Knap,

drop down through the woods to Postlip Hall, keep the stone wall to the right

past the Chapel (1200s), bell turret and stone tithe barn,

over the style through the gate to Cleeve Common then onwards and upwards to a distant vista of Winchcombe and Sudely castles. We popped back to reality for a cheese sandwich at the golf house and joined the golfers finishing their round and seemingly oblivious of the museum beneath the escarpment.

Daring not to sit for too long as we could feel the coolness and knew we would be reduced to stone statues at any moment. A passing deer and squirrel and fox all scurried by to remind us how quickly the minutes were passing and how little distance we were covering. Finally we popped out of the wood and landed in someone’s garden who immediately brought us a cup of tea, told us the family’s whereabouts (we felt we should have known them), sold us another map and pointed us in the direction of tonight’s home – a fabulous Indian restaurant and B&B just beneath the Dowdeswell Reservoir, and just across the road

DAY 1
We’ve taken leave, hopped on a B777 Thursday midnight, landed in London 25 hours later on Friday 1pm, boarded a fast train to Moreton-in-Marsh, slipped down a rabbit hole, exchanged the shortest day for the shortest night, shed winter layers in a closet at the train station and came out the back under the lamp post at Chipping Camden!

We were unsure whether to look expectantly for Mr Tumnus; the Mad Hatter;  Gandalf or Robin Hood. Before we could decide we found ourselves in a pub owned by an Aussie, chatting to a group from Ulverstone, Tas. Curious indeed.

We were away – past the thatched cottages (Bilbo Baggins maybe?), on the cobbled paths following miles of dry stone walls. Careful not to scare the free range ‘ranga’ chooks. The sheep (to rival NZ) however didn’t even acknowledge our presence and we had to watch where to place each step.

Not that we remember eating the Turkish Delight or seeing the White Witch BUT something in the amazing full English Breakfast or the horrid coffee persuaded us to take leave of our senses and follow the Cripps Way rather than the Cotswold Way. We climbed Dovers Hill three times from different directions adding an extra 10 km to today’s journey bringing it to a round 40km.

A kindly gentleman gave us renewed directions and again we climbed Dovers Hill and rediscovered our markers. Having renewed our allegiance to the Way it was onward and upward across Cleeve Common to Broadway Tower. The magnificent vista opened out below and the misadventures of the morning vaporised.

The lush green English summer turf was an offer too good to refuse

Down into the valley, the township of Broadway was a welcome sight as our hunger pangs were becoming more and more frequent. Our enormous breakfast had been completely used up

Morris Dancers were in the village square with their colourful costumes and toe tapping music.

Rejuvenated by our Tea Room lunch we were on our way. Beautiful blue cloudless skies, green fields dotted with sheep and a silence broken by our own thumping hearts and puffing breath. The Way led us upward for a few hours until a three way fork in the road brought us to a stop – our path was not marked and we were way too familiar with the consequences of leaving The Way. Within minutes a family of Elves appeared at our side, knew exactly where we were headed, offered to guide us the whole way to the next hamlet. Six year old Sophie introduced us to Brownie, her much loved companion, a girl rabbit with an extensive wardrobe. Both Sophie and Brownie were quite hungry and were very disappointed when the Mount had not yet opened. Legolas (known as Rob to his friends) wasted no time in suggesting that we all pop down to the cricket club, have a pint, get some crisps and lemonade for Sophie and Brownie and then hopefully The Mount would be open and we could stay for dinner.

We all sat in the sun and watched the game of cricket in front of us on the Manor House green – we had to keep pinching ourselves or we may have forgotten to breathe.
As if orchestrated to a different score 6pm struck, The Mount opened and we ordered dinner gazing at the rolling valleys and fields below and in the distance the blue silhouette of the Black Mountains in Wales. We chatted on and on, past Sophie and Brownie’s bedtime with no thought of the impossible miles we still had to go – two more valleys and hills to our B&B. As the impending reality hit, Rob and Gillian insisted that the Vauxhall whisk us to Wadfield farm – we gratefully accepted – only then realising that our destination was soooo well hidden that our weary legs and brains had no chance of ever finding it!!
Legolas and Arwen and Sophie and Brownie had saved our day.