beer and sandwiches at The Bull at Craswell, a remote pub on the ridge that defines Golden Valley, setting for the Anthony Hopkins movie, Shadowlands. It's been years since I drove the route and I lost my way on impossibly narrow country roads with grass growing in the middle.
We never made The Bull but we came upon a strange sight: a badger - in broad daylight - trying to cross the road into a field, but being held back by a handful of sheep who moved backwards and forwards on the other side of a wire fence, blocking each outflanking move he made. Both Professional Bleeder and son Ian thought the badger for the Bull was a fair swap.
We ordered sandwiches at The Pandy Inn at Dorstone where shouts of anger, followed by a slammed door, rose from the kitchen and a pretty, overworked girl - close to tears at one point - worked the bar and served the tables. Service was much delayed but, as you can imagine, we'd have paid extra for the drama.
Poetry service, run by RR as a tribute to the late poetry-loving Joe Hyam.
Deo gratias Anglia
Redde pro victoria.
Our king went forth to Normandy
With grace and might of chivalry,
There God for him wrought marvellously,
Wherefore England may call and cry
Deo gratias, etc,
Reasons why. Fifteenth century carol, better sung - shouted? - plainsong style, stamping like a knight's charger. Latin translates as: England, give thanks to God for victory. Wars aren’t my bag: certainly when claimed as God-driven. But the declamatory style cannot be bettered: six words (third line) summarises the whole campaign, "grace" is so persuasive it's forgivable, "wrought" (obsolete in 2014?) seems inevitable.