Sunday, October 2nd - Fenny Stratford
I love the way the English do lazy Sundays. Shortly after the morning service there's a line at the bar which doesn't open until noon. Shift workers in their blues, the 'fam in their Sunday best and tourists all lined up for brunch/lunch and a pint.
Unlike those lushes, I started off the day sensibly, with cereal and coffee. Then I walked into town to buy a bicycle. Unfortunately the great deal on a slightly used Gary Fisher was unobtainable because the pawn shop was closed. Oh well, maybe I'll get some lunch while I'm here.
Behold the Bletchley Arms. There'll be more on this gem later. It might be my favorite pub in the area. We'll definitely make it back when Gena and Vanessa come to visit at the end of the month.
It's a great family pub with a big back yard, playset and even a bounce house nestled behind the Bletchley leisure center. Thankfully the woefull local economy prevents it from being absorbed into the soul-less concrete jungle of MK.
After a chicken and bacon baguette I had myself a comfortable stroll along the canal back towards the house. The canal stretches from the Thames (where London is. OK, the place they showed at the end of Benny Hill is...), to Manchester (where Man United lives).
Boating on the canal: Pull up to lock, off-load partner to run into the bar and pick up three drinks, hop back on after you've navigated the locks, carry on.
My (historic) local boozer, the Red Lion. Time for a pint of real ale.
Then back home; where I sit, broken hearted (.... .. .... ... ..... ......). Where I'll drink in the last of this good weekend weather and listen to The Black Joe Louis and the Honey Bears thabks to Doc (BTW-It's warmer now that ever in recorded history. Tell me about global climate change...) and pack, and then pop down to the Bridge for Sunday roast. How's that for a slice of fried gold?