Pubs really are getting noisier. Tuesday night, as you know, is pub, I mean dog walking, night. With the current wonderful balmy evenings our favoured spot is at the elevated front “patio” overlooking the village, but last night, since these seats were taken, we headed for the pub garden at the rear. No chance of a peacefully undisturbed pint. Rest assured, the Heathcote Arms has not adopted the city bar habit of loud music. Our pints were consumed to a cacophony of discordant church bell ringing (they really must keep practicing) a large flock of cawing crows flying past, and around the adjacent table the local amateur dramatic society were practicing their next production, much to the consternation of Tia, who wondered what all the raised voices were about.
Incidentally the bell ringers used to be regulars at the Heathcote after Tuesday night campanology practice, but since January 1st, when they arrived at the pub earlier than expected after a New Year’s Day ramble and Andy the landlord refused to let them in before opening time, they have boycotted the establishment.
Who needs The Archers?
Technically we live in Oaktree House, but sadly the tree had to go.
We now have a thriving Oakstump at the front of the house.
