Today I travelled to Wootton Bassett. There’s not a great deal I can say about Wootton Bassett except that I once was able to claim that I had been to every pub in the town and that it is now the eastern extremity of the Terry Mullan Foot Health Care empire. This means that it is the nearest I can ever expect to get to North Korea in a working capacity.
I travelled there passing through Calne, Lyneham, Bushton and Grittenham on the way and picking up valuable snippets of information as I journeyed eastwards. As I cared for and pared off various unwanted bits of foot, their owners educated me with details of the complexities of the Cricklade to Swindon bus timetable, the comings and goings of Pickles the cat that lives four doors up the street from my client, the best way to kill a malformed baby lamb and the difficulties of living with someone who permanently has a urine infection.
Old Stan in Cherhill told me that his wife gets pregnant every time he goes away on holiday so he’s taking her with him next time.
An all in all lovely day but for the fact that hopes of my cold only being a minor one completely evaporated. I just wish all this snot would too.