Me: "What time do you close?"
Store Clerk: "Half five."
Not half past five. Just "half five". That's another British thing I guess--leaving out words when telling someone the time. I'm not complaining. I love British accents--all the different ones. I could listen to them all day. Sometimes I almost do, like if I'm on a Doctor Who binge or catching up on Masterpiece.
|I couldn't get enough of the phone booths. This is not the last picture you'll see of one. I promise.|
|The town square.|
Anyway, we walked around a little bit, bought Mom some bananas, looked in a couple of gift shops and then decided we should go check out St. Edward's before the church gate got locked up for the evening. The vicar told us we were just in time.
|Stained glass window from the 12th century at St. Edwards.|
|St. Edward's Parish Church|
The church itself is a beautiful little parish church (apparently nice enough for the funeral of The Who's bass player, John Entwhistle). It dates back to the 12th century which I think it pretty amazing, but the coolest thing is the ancient yew trees that flank the north door.
|Speak friend and enter.|
|One of a million pictures just like it.|
|Our sitting room at The Pound. I didn't take any bedroom photos.|
|They used to run sheep down the alleys to the town square on market days.|
|Community pea patch.|
We finally found the footpath. It went by a field of some green grain that we couldn't figure out what it was, through a cow pasture, past a badger hole, through a couple of fences and into a horse pasture and then we had to turn around because it was starting to get late and we didn't want to be out in dark.
|Anyone know what this is?|
|There were cows in this field we waked through. It made me slightly nervous, but none of them charged us.|
|The views were unbeatable.|
On our walk back to town we decided to take a different route and we passed the actual gate to the cemetery (not the stuck one). It was wide open. We had to laugh at our own ridiculousness.
|Sheep Street, Stow-on-the-Wold|
To Be Continued. . .