The Cotswolds are lousy with lambs, as my friend Sondra would say. This little guy watched us drive past on a road no wider than my dining table.
Now I know when there's a sign that says "FORD" at the entrance to the road it doesn't mean to keep an eye out for rare sightings of Ford Explorers. Instead we forded a stream, in my little red Mercedes, which is now grass stained from when we dug out a sizable chunk of an embankment trying to make a U-turn. (The sign on the other road said "diversion" but we weren't feeling playful.)
Later we made another important discovery: Good food in Britain. Write this down: The Priory in Burford. Risotto to die for. Yes, I'll meet my maker happily with the taste of Roasted Red Onion and Rocket Risotto on my lips. A tongue twister, but a tongue pleaser too.
Today we're off to Stonehenge and Bath. We're staying at the Monkshill Guest House, which looks lousy with flowers and other forms of charm.
Since wireless internet isn't likely to be found amid so much charm I'll post photos later. And until I'm back in fine political fighting form, can someone take care of this?
