Sunday. into Winchester

Phew! Michael is at the other end of this room. However my head is towards those Hampshire tones as Liverpool plays Spurs on the box alongside Church Street. He's gone for a walk... And I am over. £42 on Thai food. Why is it so very expensive? It was very warming, the Duck, and I scoffed the lot, but it's twice as expensive as Chinese food from a takeaway and no more complex?!?

***

Just about Lunch time as we reach the Treehouse Café. It was another good morning. The cheese shop sketch, fish licence and Dickkens (two Ks) and a detectorist who was heading up into the landowner's space to discover Roman, Saxon and Bronze age gold - the Golden Triangle is the specific area know by enthusiasts.

In another 7ish kilometres we will hit the A31 once more, it's easy to be lulled into pastoralism in Hampshire, but Southampton and London are very heavily tied together. There appears to be a Bishop's Sutton village (just after) ahead which is where we resist following the main A road anywhere! Or there is New Aireford where the railway ceases, we cease and the way ceases...

Sunday is a day for pleasure seekers. Above me flies an aeroplane gliding and in the paddock a girl on horseback riding.

Playing Mike the Bookshop Sketch, but he must pee. In the middle of a field! Go figure!

On the final stretch, up the final hill, around the corner which would be the Ship Inn, Michael decided he didn't believe me. He said there was no pub and almost ground to a halt, stubborn as a mule, but just then the pub, closed, arrived.

We'd just walked over the River Aire, as it sprang from the earth, after I'd tried to run to catch the bus, I'd found a poo bag and picked up a poo just at the road(to deposit in a black bin) and then we had a silly argument about noise. He didn't like the traffic on the hill by the church (hidden) and I wasn't really bothered. It had been a good day, if a bit difficult in the afternoon sunshine. I felt a little like a mad dog with an annoyed Kraut. Suddenly the humour of the morning was dying in the murder of the traffic noise.

We've checked into a Mecure! It's a proper hotel with huge single beds. There will be no Saturday night rabble arguing to start a fight, instead we will get at each others throats over perception? I might perceive him ripping my larynx to stop me talking British, English cultural minefields...