Roma

Okay like Paris Rome is too big for a few days. We left Civitavechia, Rome's port, for Fiumicino only to find that, that's also Rome's port. Then just up the road at Ostia is Rome's port. You begin to wonder what the hell is going on. Then somewhere amongst the guide books and touristy stuff they explain that the River Tiber kept silting up making shipping dodgy so all these ports are subsequent attempts to get round that. The Fiumicino canal being a cut off the Tiber to the sea forming the Isola Sacre. Almost but not quite as confusing as the bus system.

The trouble with the Fiumicino canal is that it has two bridges that need to open before you can get to the cheap berthing areas. Our info said the guy to see was Max at Albula yard up the canal. The guide book said the bridges don't open on Mondays and Tuesdays. We arrived Monday and went in to the Darsena Traiana for a couple of days parked amongst a lot of debris and dead things with a Gary Glitter type, taking 50 Euros a night from us but unable to give receipts. We then discovered that the guide book was wrong and the bridges did opened on Mondays but not Tuesdays and Wednesdays so we were in Gary's gang for an extra expensive night.

Still Gary gave us some tips and explained that getting to Rome was inexpensive if you liked hard travel.  And we did. The next morning we were at the appointed bus stop ready to do Rome. The bus duly turned up and we got on only to be told that we needed to get a ticket from a tobacconists and that you couldn't buy them on the bus. So amongst some very Latin language we got off and made for the bloody Tobacconists to get a 1.30 Euro ticket and another half hour wait for our trouble.

After a trip to Ostia and jumping on the Metro for 1.50 Euros with one change we hit central Rome Termini. The first thing you see is our old mate Diocletian's bath house just off the termini. Clearly he did take time out from butchering Christians for a short dip from time to time.

We went for a bus trip for orientation purposes and saw many very old things.

Castle Sant Angelo. Emperor Hadrian's mausoleum.  Very, very old.

The next few days saw Mrs K wilting under the sun and the enthusiastic husband rocketing about trying to sound impressive about Roman Emperors. One thing I have really enjoyed are the beggars in Rome. They don't approach me because I have cantankerous old Englishman written all over my face but they do approach Mrs K. Little do they know that I have to beg for money off her and need reasons in triplicate. They have no chance.

The first day was bus tour to try and orientate ourselves but too much info and some deplorable music, then we did the great big museum next to the Termini railway station. Its claim to fame being the bronze life size boxer.

Or guy taking a dump.

When the bridges opened we moved up to Max's yard which was great, reasonably priced and max restored our faith in Italians.

The Pantheon is pretty impressive. Basically built by Hadrian in its current form in AD 118 it was the largest dome in the world for nearly 1400 years. Still standing today.

This is supposed to be the spot where Caesar discovered that Brutus wasn't the mate he thought he was.

This is the Romulus Temple built in 307 AD with its original bronze doors and a lock mechanism that still works. My Raymarine wind thingy at the top of the mast is not yet ten years old and that does not work any more.

A stroll around the Palatine hill is a 'must do' as you get a feel of the Empire a couple of thousand years ago, it all went on here.

The Colloseum has to be the most impressive building completed by Titus in AD 80 ish much of it is still there and you only really see that when you get inside if you can tolerate the 'I can get you in quickly touts.' 

I don't need touts as I have Mrs K who knows all the deals. And luckily she spotted that the Vatican Museum and the Sistine Chapel were free on the last Sunday of each month. So off we marched with wrong bus tickets in hand to make our way in. (The bus tickets had been my job!)Despite some confusion over the tickets no one on the buses gave a damn and we got a free ride in. The Sistine experience is a bit of a build up as you are lead through corridors with ornately painted ceilings with everyone, particularly Americans, asking in each room Is this the Sistine Chapel? Towards the end I did too.

All I know is that this isn't it as you aren't allowed to take pictures in the chapel as there are guards in there yelling at you not to, between yelling at you to be silent. It's very noisy.

Now I have been worrying about Mrs K going in to a bit of a spiral with the heat and all the exhausting travel.

But I think I have brought her round with homemade packed lunches and a couple of visits to McDonalds.

The Spanish steps. We were too knackered to go up them.

The Trevi Fountain. We can relate to this as it depicts two horses, one is mild and settled and the other is wild and angry. This represents the sea in its changing moods but what most people don't see is it represents our weather Apps with mine being meek and mild about everything and Mrs K's tempestuous 'we are all going to die' App.

I think I may need to get down to some chart corrections. Got these cheap in the market.

Rome has to be the world's greatest 'selfie' spot. They are all at it.

Well that's Rome done. Or it is if you only have a few days.

Next stop Anzio as long as I can miss the sunken boat just across the river.

Going from Two to Six

As you all know to us Hermy was a mansion when we bought her but as time goes on you start to fill all the spaces with all sorts of things. Sun umbrellas cushions and more recently half baked baguettes to feed the six that were about to arrive. I had to stop Mrs K from buying a further two which would have made twelve. Now with number one daughter and number one son about to arrive with partners space was becoming an issue. This is when the fore deck becomes a sort of loft to store stuff out of the way. Dinghies have to fend for themselves under tow, bikes are relegated from the fore peak to the deck as are spare sails. We were relegated to the main cabin so that Daughter and her farmer could take up residence in the stern cabin. Son and linguist took up the fore peak.

We moved on from Castiglione to Talamone, named after some Greek hero who accompanied Jason on the Argo and became involved in Pillars. Nelson stopped here before heading for the Nile seeking out Boney's team and our old mate Garibaldi stopped here to re-provision. The small supermarket was clearly better stocked then.

All in all a lovely place and worth the 50 Euros this time. Impressive fort and a very well used kite surfing beach. Talamone has a railway station and it was here that the offspring were converging. The station was 2 KM away so a taxi shouldn't be a problem. Well it bloody was. We approached Gregory the chief boat parker and asked about a taxi and he immediately made a phone call and came back to us saying 15 Euros is that okay? A bit steep but we could run to that. No he said 50 Euros! What? It's only 2 KM. Apparently he had to come from Orbitello. I was perturbed by this and said no we will walk. 

Well just as you are about to embark on a rage against Italians ripping you off, poor old Gregory said its okay I will take you if I am not too busy. Just when you want to have a go at a whole nation someone like Gregory steps in, it's very frustrating.

He did. He was as good as his word and wouldn't take any money. And his Mrs rang him as we traveled back with the "where the hell are you?" Conversation. I bought him a reasonably expensive Rosso to compensate.

Very arty I thought. So did Mrs K that's why I had to take the picture!

Between them they have some remarkable academic qualifications with 'Firsts,' 'Masters' and 'Degrees' all over the place. The photographer however struggles in this area. His academic prowess was tested to the full when Mrs K tasked him with returning the washed inside out marigolds to their usual readiness. Took ages.

Right what to do with these youngsters? Well there are two nice looking Islands near Talamone, Giglio and Gianutri both look great one has a harbour and the other a pretty secure anchorage. What do the weather App gods say? Well as usual mine is saying not too bad but Mrs K's is showing some red so we decide to make for San Stefano 10 nautical miles from Talamone.

The Farmer took to driving, it's a big vehicle thing!

Lunch stop lead to leaping off the side. Most people feel compelled to lead with their arms but not the farmer!

After an attempt at anchoring for the night outside Santo Stefano we decided to go in as it was too roly.

Santo Stefano or Saint Stephen as we know him is a prime example of not having a pop at the Judge or Judges trying you. He was stoned to death for his insubordination. He is however, I am sure, the patron saint of overcharging. 62 Euros and they wanted 4 Euros per shower. Despite the classical regatta and the 15 minutes we were allowed to look around the castle after we had paid it wasn't worth it. Harbour was a bit smelly and services looked dodgy.

After an early morning, weird shell fish research party and a bit of shopping we left just as the regatta was starting and got out of the way quickly. It was a bit choppy but as we rounded  'Cap Argentaro' all settled down and we had a lovely lunch stop in the bay next to the island of L'Isolotto.

If people are on a beach then they want to swim out to the boat. If they are on the boat they want to swim to the beach. Crazy!

Port Ercole didn't want us or the nice Slovenian couple who had tried to berth so we went to Porto Cala Galera. Lovely clean port with very helpful staff and lots of services. 42 Euros. Much better than Stefano.

The Islands didn't look feasible as we didn't want to get stuck on them if flights needed to be caught so we opted for the jaunty sail to Civitavechia Rome's Port. We sailed over half way before the wind slowed down then motor sailed. Despite some serious fishing, pizza was back on the menu.

We had to dodge this guy at the entrance. Giving way is much easier when they are armed!

we entered the large port and made for Porto Romana and berthed successfully after being chased in by a large trawler.

Civitavechia is where ancient Rome meets social housing kind of a place. A bit grubby, no semblance of pedestrian organisation but quite a few nice medieval or Roman bits. The ice cream was good and we were able to set down our passengers for their return journeys to Blighty.

The free archaeological museum was well worth a visit. It displayed this Roman loo seat with writing on it. A sort of read while you go set up. It would also be printed on your bum to read later if you were in a hurry and if you were flexible enough! I did struggle with this and thought it far more likely that the scribe submitted this to the approver but it was rejected and they didn't have shredders so it was relegated to loo seat production. This happened to a lot of my work.

So from six now back to two, Hermy coped with six well. It's very quiet now!

 

Back to the mainland

Sardinia done, off back to the mainland via the East coast of Corsica. Leaving Santa Teresa with a nice North Westerlie we sailed to Sant Amanza bay on the South East coast of Corsica to meet up with Beligou our German friends from the canals and Cecina. En route we were approached from behind by a grey figure and we began to prepare for an official netting as we had experienced off Cagliairi.

But no. After a rear approach this guy overtook us. Some kind of military marine tow truck I think.

A quiet anchor and a lovely barbeque on board Beligou.  That's the good think about steel boats you don't have to worry about them melting. Sad farewells the next morning then off up the East coast to Solenzara. Passing inside the Cerbicles and past Porto Vechio heading North. Just like the East coast of Sardinia Corsica is sparse in population due to malaria and pirates over the centuries. Lakes or 'Etangs' not helping with the Malaria issues.  

With just the odd effort to protect.

Solenzara was built to assist tourism in the area and I think they made a pretty good job of it.

They even had a procession although not quite on the scale of Cagliairi.

Each 2nd of June they cart this statue of St Erasmus down to the marina and bless the boats. Erasmus is the patron saint of sailors and, rather interestingly, the patron saint of abdominal pain. Unlike the usual saints of his era he did not turn up dead to become a saint but suffered quite a bit under our old friend the Emperor Diocletian. He was beaten, starved, set alight, placed in a barrel full of spikes and rolled around for a bit but somehow he survived for quite a while. He once carried on preaching when a lightning strike landed beside him impressing the sailors who prayed to him during storms. He eventually met his end by having his stomach slit open and having his intestines wound around a windlass. That would I suppose upset the tummy a little. Strangely the windlass probably belonged to a sailor but hay ho.

Any way Erasmus didn't seem to help us berthing as the entry was with a strong crosswind and we ended up side on to the dock sustaining a couple of scratches to the gelcoat. Our second attempt was more successful as I used the boat hook to grab the boat upwind and held us while we tied up.

I carried out an oil change on Hermy to keep her sweet and all was well until we came to start her up and all she did was go click. Damn! Mrs K knew something would go wrong before we got back to the mainland to meet the children. A frantic search around found a rather crusty electric connection which after a bit of cleaning resulted in a lively start up and no further issues. Hermy likes good clean connections.

After Solenzara it was a hike up to Campoloro a small shallow port with not too much going on. Some camp sites and apparently quite a few chestnut trees. Pasqualle Paoli, the Corsican rebel,was born somewhere nearby and after he died in London, many years later his remains were returned here. 

On arrival I did a quick oil check as I had changed the oil and to my horror the dip stick was dry. Another go did nothing to alleviate this horror. But where had it all gone? The bilges were reasonably clear, there had been no smoke from the engine. It must be hiding. Mrs K said the engine is hot you never check the oil when we arrive only when we leave try it later. I did and the oil came back. How did she know that? My wife knows too much.

It was from Campoloro that we left Corsica and made for Elba 50 nautical miles Eastish and in doing so crossed our outgoing line completing our circumnavigation of Corsica. In fact we did a figure of eight around both Corsica and Sardinia.

Motor sailing is hard on the crew!

We anchored for the night in Port Azzurro on Corsica. It was a bit blowy and we needed fuel so we popped in to the fuel berth and filled up and then decided to make for Castiglione Della Pescaia across the water on the mainland.

Mr Heikell said Castiglione was a cheap spot but it was dangerous to get in to if the wind was blowing from the West or South West. The wind was South East so might be an issue. Anyway a lumpy crossing but a straight forward entrance. Cheap turned out to be 50 Euros a night.

One guidebook described Castiglione as undiscovered by the British but we discovered that it was more expensive than it should have been. 

Next stop was Talamone a slightly more upmarket harbour with a good anchorage which we took advantage of for the first night. Our competing wind apps gave mixed messages about the weather with mine saying it will be fine and Mrs K's predicting a tempest so we slid in to the harbour for a few days  to explore and await the arrival of Son and Daughter with respective partners for a week together exploring this coast. And because Mrs K has gone in to boat preparation mode.

Sardinia is an Island!

Alghero is an important port to us yachties as it is the landfall from the Balearics and is a great place to rest a few days if hiking up the West coast.

Hermy appreciates a rest.

As does the Galley boy!

The Aroganese took possession of Alghero in 1350 something and the Spanish tinge is still present with Spanish words popping up all over the place. I like this idea as my Italian includes a lot of French and quite a bit of English. The other great thing about this place is that it has quite a few nice shops for Mrs K to wander around picking things up and putting them down again as well as feeling the material of all items of clothing on display. I love watching the urge to buy competing with the urge to save, the latter almost always wins.

Apparently The holy Roman Emperor Charles V of Spain stayed in this building around 1540 ish before heading off to bash up pirates in Algeria. He addressed the Sardinian people who were decidedly friendly with Charles just having parked his fleet in the harbour . His address went something like this.

'The Sardinian people are lovely and you have a strong and lovely town now bring me all your cattle as I have thousands of soldiers to feed but it's okay we'll have a bull fight or two before we slaughter them all.'

Giuseppe Garibaldi turned up here too in 1855 on his way to try and unite the Italies.

I don't know what it is but people always insist on scribbling on everything. Luckily offset by a sexy girl sight seer.

One of the great things about Mrs K is that she will always try whatever is unusual on a menu. Myself always driven by hunger always has to be sure that I will like what I eat.

Mrs K goes for the strange Chickpea omelette while I plumb for the Pepperoni Pizza. Of course should it turn out to be a little dodgy then sharing is always an option.

The cost for staying a night at Alghero was 28 Euros and with the Cruising Association discount it remained at 28 Euros.

Next port was Stintino 35 miles up the coast and through a shallow patch between the mainland and the Island of Asinara. So to get a head start we decided to do the first 5 miles and anchor in Porto Conte beneath the spectacular cliffs. And of course the statutory Spanish tower.

The route around Capo Caccia was the spectacular bit.

Who put that hole through there?

Stintino on the Assinara peninsular was famous for being a Tuna fishing village and for having a rare breed of  white donkey. So rare infact we didn't see any. Somebody obviously shouted ' Get your scrawny white ass out of here' and they did!

Having negotiated the leading lines through the shallow Fornelli Channel where we slid in to the harbour and up to the preferred sailing club only to be told to sod off as they were full up so we went in to the marina and tied up next to  'Reverie' a couple from Blighty doing the same thing but in a posher boat.

Still a lovely place and a short scramble along the coast showed a huge variety of plant life.

Next stop across the bay was Isola Rossa aptly named after the red island just outside.  A pleasant little harbour with nice staff but as has become usual when it comes to taking your papers to the office and paying it always seems to come as a complete surprise to the staff that you have parked a boat in their harbour and wish to pay them some money for the privilege. Forms have to be found and filled in, entry cards for the showers need to be distributed, and payment card machines completely baffle them. You get the impression that each harbour employs new office staff daily to maintain this element of surprise.

Our stop here gave us the chance to inflate the dinghy, try out the outboard and give Hermy's hull a long needed clean. The next day was our final leg in the circumnavigation of Sardinia. after a short lunch stop at Capo Testa and a clean of the propeller we entered Santa Teresa in a hail of glory. Well okay no one noticed but we did and celebrated with a Pizza with the crew of 'Reverie'

Rounding Capo Testa marking our circumnavigation of Sardinia 455 Nautical Miles. We can confirm Sardinia is an island.

West Side Story

The decision was made, travel back to Blighty, attend 25th wedding anniversary, visit friends and family and go to old friend's, but far too young to die, funeral. The yacht's planner (Mrs K) leapt into motion and we needed to catch a ferry, a bus, a plane, a train, and cadge a lift from Granddad. Easy all booked.

9 hours there eight hours back to the boat. Took me a while but I worked out why in the end.

We sat next to a lovely Sardinian lady both on the way out and surprisingly on the way back too. She worked to rid the world of modern slavery although she was quite dismissive of my case against Mrs K.

Deadlines cause more sailing disasters than anything else. So we have to be on the Italian mainland by 11th June. Where are we now? The bottom of Sardinia. That's three weeks in which to do it.

It'll be fine!

Not sure why Mrs K made me sit here just after I said that!

Our first stop 45 nautical miles up the West coast was Oristano. I dearly wanted to go in to the small port of Buggeru but as the name suggests it is very silted up and is limited to boats of less than 10 Metres. Hermy doesn't mind shallow but she is no size 10.

Weather is rainy and someone has plonked tuna nets stretching out a couple of miles off Capo Altano. How inconsiderate.

Now I had heard that to the North of Oristano Bay, just under the ruins of the ancient town of Tharros, there were mooring bouys where it was a little too early in the season for the owners to be bothered to collect any fees. So in an effort to satisfy Mrs K's frugal desires we plumbed for them.

Rainy and lumpy. Note how the extendable deck brush stops the bimini filling with water. Modern technology! As the night went on it got lumpier and creakier. No sleep. I had not satisfied my wife's need for slumber. Bad husband!

The weather had come in and we had to decide whether to hide at Porto Torres or go for Bosa 30 miles up the coast. The deadline won the day and we had a bouncy motorsail North with a toot and a wave from a passing coast guard motor launch. I believe Sardinian for 'what on earth are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be in a bar somewhere?'

Mr Heikell says that if it is blowing more than a force four then it is dangerous to enter Bosa River due to large breaking waves. Luckily it was fine and the waves died down and the sun came out.

Bosa has gone on my list of top Sardinian spots. It has a castle, a river, a museum,  a tower, a church, tiny medieval streets, a port and a beach. That just about ticks everything.

Now despite our lack of sleep and due to our lack of time on docking we had to go exploring and with Malaspina Castle sitting on top of the hill that was a must.

Mrs K was fueled with ice cream which improves her hill climbing qualities.

And up we went.

You could just imagine marauders coming up the river and seeing this castle and thinking do we have enough ice cream to take that?

Not being content with her ability to steer Hermy better than me Mrs K determined that she needed more knowledge about the finer workings of our boat and stated that she wanted to know what goes on in the engine room each morning. I had to confess that it may not be quite  the scientific process I may have lead her to believe and I showed her how to check the oil and water and look for things that didn't look right. She picked it up and she has also taken to planning and plotting our journey's too. I realised that my emasculation was complete when on leaving Bosa harbour and getting underway Mrs K  said "Hoi Galley boy get bellow and make the tea." I think I need to speak to our Sardinian lady on the plane again.

A lovely sail to Alghero under the command of Captain K.

Five hours to do 20 miles but sailing is much better than motoring even under a tyrannical captain.

The Bottom Passage!

The trouble with bloody rain on a boat is it points out that your boat leaks but not in any way that is useful because a leak that starts at the mast can show itself in the stern cabin. Also because there is so much moisture in the air and ventilation is down to a minimum then condensation develops and slides along whatever edge it likes then drops water drops in any particular spot. Usually just near a screw or hatch making you think that there is a leak when there isn't. It's not easy having a boat.

Mrs K becomes a little stir crazy when boat bound and has to take up a position to spy on the neighbours to see how they are struggling. Although she does seem a little happier now that I have a mosquito bite on my arm.

Continuing with the condensation theme I really don't get it, women seem to know things. We have a lovely stern berth on Hermy and when it came to selecting sides Mrs K said she would let me sleep on the side with the hatch above it. I saw this as a real win as I could look at the stars  and see the dawn rising and escape first if we sank at night. 

Now just going back to the condensation edge dribbling point it wasn't long before one morning lying on my side a large and cold blob of water landed in my left ear. In a half conscious state I repositioned myself on my back in order to receive the next blob right in my left eye. A subsequent shuffle lined up my right ear perfectly to receive what felt like an inordinately large blob. Well I awoke in a 'to do' and ranted at the hatch only to catch a glimpse of Mrs K rolling over with a wry smile on her face. Women. They know these things!

Now you don't buy a boat and sail all the way to Cagliari just to suffer Macclesfield weather. But we did. We even got our wellies out which have not been used at all in three seasons. Luckily the handle on this five litre box of grape juice didn't give out until I was on board. Then I opened it and I gave out.

Ten days in Cagliari waiting for the weather and finally it sorts itself out. We say goodbye to the nice French, American, Spanish and English people we have met and hot foot it out of the harbour. Being a commercial port makes it a bit more complicated with its four lane traffic separation scheme and a prohibited area just off the oil refinery at Sarroche adds to your problems. Anyway I thought I had done it right but you can never be too sure. I usually rely on VHF  Channel 16 which usually bursts in to life with words like 'the yacht in position so and so are you receiving? And that hesitant reply 'Hello Yacht Hermione do you mean me?' But nothing this time and just as I am congratulating myself and trying to get Mrs K to appreciate the importance of correct navigation techniques, I looked over my shoulder and I could see a grey, very military type, boat making for my stern. Most boats approaching from behind will offset their course to make it clear that they will overtake you but this one didn't. They only send a boat when you are really in trouble!

He wanted me and came alongside asking for my papers and passports. Interestingly they didn't board but poked a large net at me to drop my stuff in to which I duly did wondering which violation I was guilty of.  After five minutes they reappeared and poked the net back at me with my papers in saying everything was fine and 'enjoy your holiday.' 

I did get the feeling that a more economic way of checking boaties papers might be to stroll along the dock when we are in harbour but the presence of his, albeit covered up, machine gun made me select my words very carefully just as Mrs K had taught me over the years. We continued on our way and finally anchored up at Teulada bay just next to the Budello tower for the night. Built in 1601 to protect a fish pond. Bloody poachers. At least we weren't kept awake by the bloody Dutchman's bloody dog in Cagliari.

It wasn't the Dutchman's dog but some other bloody dog as well as a bit of rocking that kept us awake but not  too a bad night.

Teulada has very little around it other than a pretty landscape and one of the largest live firing ranges in Italy. The trouble with these ranges is that they simply draw a large square extending a long way out to sea and say ' Live firing, dangerous to enter.' Great, we say, and where do we find out if there are any trigger happy artillery soldiers on duty today? Well it mentions the' Italian Annual Summary Firing Ranges' but that reveals nothing on the internet that I could find and anyway sounds like it might just be a list of their yearly successes. 50 targets 3 motorboats a fisherman and 12 yachts!

The trouble with this square is that it had been drawn right in our way and I didn't fancy going  round it. So Channel 16 on, main sail up, motor on full and go, was my meticulous strategy. A keen look out for any flashing and listen for low flying jets. You can't stop imagining how tempting a small slow moving blob on a flat landscape is to a bored artillery soldier.

Despite no other boats being about we pressed on and were within two miles of the exit line of the square when the radio crackled up ' yacht Cannonball, Cannonball this is Echo India 321 are you receiving? It took a minute to work out that this wasn't a warning about an incoming cannonball. The rather irritated man on the radio only got an answer after about five calls interestingly in English and with a slight hesitation in the skippers voice he explained that he was sorry as his radio was on channel 9 as he had just come from the marina. He was duly told off that he was in a live firing range during a military exercise and was given a course by which to exit. Interestingly a similar course to our exit point. Luckily we had been too far out to get a call but I can imagine the temptation on their part to pop off a warning 30 pounder!

Just when we were getting a little bored we were joined by a couple of dolphins who obliged by swimming under our bows and consented to a photo. Lovely.

This event occurred just as we passed the Island of Sant Antioch. Again a place of importance to the Phoenicians and the Romans for its resources of silver and lead. Originally known as Sulki Island then the island of Lead. Clearly it needed a dead saint to come floating in so that it may receive a more appropriate name. And, luckily, just that happened when Sant Antioch having been despatched in Africa, no doubt for listening to Christians,  washed up together with his identification papers and became the patron saint of the island. His remains are in the very old church above the town to prove it.

We were making for the Island of Sant Pietro named after a short weather bound stop over by St Peter. The town of Carloforte is actually one of the more picturesque of our travels and reasonably priced so we decide that this was a good place to stop for a quick jaunt home.

Very Pretty. Would be even prettier in the sunshine. Still We hear it is really sunny in Blighty!