With an understanding of why Poms spend there time in Pubs around the fire, (it’s bloody cold and there’s not much else you can do), we set off from Heathrow in our hire car, on a mission to find some good friendly country pubs. We headed North thinking we were leaving behind noise, crowds and traffic only to find ourselves stationary, in a traffic jam on the M1, in the middle of nowhere. No town, no intersection, no road works, just traffic, all stationary. Called through Oxford, drove around in the heavy traffic, people and students on bikes everywhere, and couldn’t find a place to park. Too cold to walk anyway, so we kept going north. 
We were heading for Riseley, Bedfordshire, and fortunately walked into the “Fox and Hounds” pub at exactly beer o’clock. First had to find somewhere to stay, nothing in town, so were recommended the “Queens Head” in Milton Earnest, down the road. (The history book of the town is called “The Importance of Milton Earnest.”) Back at the Fox, renowned far and wide for it’s quality steaks, we had fish, and several local ales. Jan the owner, was very hospitable and informed us of the town and its inhabitants. The pub used to be a private residence with 350 years of history. 
It had burnt, withered old beams supporting the roof, and was warm and we felt like we were sitting in Jan’s loungeroom. In the morning we visited Andrew, an Historical Society member, at his lovely old cottage (built around 1550), to collect a history book of Riseley. 
In the main street is a rickety old building of wattle and daub and uneven beams, built in the 1400’s, said to be the oldest house in North Bedfordshire. 
Also visited “Black Bob”, the blacksmith, whom I had met in the pub the previous night. Bob is a third generation blacksmith in town. 
It was in 1844, that Thomas Sugars left Riseley for Australia. And as far as I know, I am the first of his descendants to return. After driving around town and quickly scouring the churchyard for any Sugars headstones, we headed for Shakespeare’s home.
It had burnt, withered old beams supporting the roof, and was warm and we felt like we were sitting in Jan’s loungeroom. In the morning we visited Andrew, an Historical Society member, at his lovely old cottage (built around 1550), to collect a history book of Riseley. 
In the main street is a rickety old building of wattle and daub and uneven beams, built in the 1400’s, said to be the oldest house in North Bedfordshire. 
Also visited “Black Bob”, the blacksmith, whom I had met in the pub the previous night. Bob is a third generation blacksmith in town. 
It was in 1844, that Thomas Sugars left Riseley for Australia. And as far as I know, I am the first of his descendants to return. After driving around town and quickly scouring the churchyard for any Sugars headstones, we headed for Shakespeare’s home. And so began the last two days of our journey. For the first time, nothing booked, and no particular plans. 
Stratford-upon-Avon is very pretty, but full of tourists, lessening it‘s appeal to us. The house Shakespeare was born in, his wife’s home, the house he died in, we must have driven past them all at some stage, but found a parking spot next to the church where he is buried. Didn’t pay 10 pounds to see his tombstone, but instead took a walk along the Avon River. What a treat, couples aimlessly rowing boats, canoeists paddling, a game of football on the opposite bank, and I think the sun broke through just for us. All beautiful and wonderfully English, but too many tourists. We headed south to the Cotswolds for our next pub experience.
Stratford-upon-Avon is very pretty, but full of tourists, lessening it‘s appeal to us. The house Shakespeare was born in, his wife’s home, the house he died in, we must have driven past them all at some stage, but found a parking spot next to the church where he is buried. Didn’t pay 10 pounds to see his tombstone, but instead took a walk along the Avon River. What a treat, couples aimlessly rowing boats, canoeists paddling, a game of football on the opposite bank, and I think the sun broke through just for us. All beautiful and wonderfully English, but too many tourists. We headed south to the Cotswolds for our next pub experience.It was beautiful driving through this well-to-do farming district with it’s picture perfect scenery. The town of Bibury attracted us as a night stop because it was described by William Morris as “the prettiest village in England.” 
The main street has a stream on one side and 16th Century cottages on the other. We stayed at the “William Morris B&B”, with it’s dramatically sloping floor, carpeted bathroom, and view over the road to the white swans on the stream. Across the bridge is the line of cottages called “Arlington Row” which has featured in many movie scenes, and is a very popular location for wedding photos.
We headed up to the “The Catherine Wheel” where the down-to-earth locals were drinking. Gamekeeper’s pie was 10 pounds, local ales, and interesting and noisy locals. Talked about the Black mountains with a Welsh couple over for a wedding, and they helped us plan our next day’s travel.
The main street has a stream on one side and 16th Century cottages on the other. We stayed at the “William Morris B&B”, with it’s dramatically sloping floor, carpeted bathroom, and view over the road to the white swans on the stream. Across the bridge is the line of cottages called “Arlington Row” which has featured in many movie scenes, and is a very popular location for wedding photos.
We headed up to the “The Catherine Wheel” where the down-to-earth locals were drinking. Gamekeeper’s pie was 10 pounds, local ales, and interesting and noisy locals. Talked about the Black mountains with a Welsh couple over for a wedding, and they helped us plan our next day’s travel.
We crossed the old Severn bridge into Wales, and headed north up the Wye river valley. Beautiful winding road, through rain forest, up to Tintern Abbey. The ruins of Tintern made a haunting photographic subject. 
After exploring some Welsh towns and “our lady who knows where we are” leading us down some incredibly narrow country lanes bordered by high walls and creepers, we drove into the Brecon Beacons. When we decided we needed accommodation, we followed a B&B sign off the main road, just north of Crickhowell. At the end of a very long track was a magnificent gate, with gate house, and immaculately manicured garden beyond. We backed out to look elsewhere, but met a couple on the track who were staying there and informed us the cost was less than we had payed in Bibury. 
“Gliffaes” is an old country manor house set amongst 35 acres of gardens, overlooking the Usk river, converted to an hotel. Luxurious but unpretentious. It was a relief to have such friendly staff, and to hear birds chirping instead of police sirens. Their advertising warns “go somewhere else if you want to be packed in thermal mud while you listen to tapes of temple bells.” It is for fly fishers and mountain walkers. 
Birds everywhere, mountain panoramas, babbling river below. We went back to Crickhowell, to “The Bear”, for dinner, and to meet the locals, hoping that they would break out into song. Breakfast at Gliffaes was amazing. Silver service in an elegant dining room, overlooking the Usk valley. 
Muesli, fruit, yoghurt, freshly squeezed orange juice and scrambled egg on a bed of smoked salmon. Gliffaes is well known for it’s value, we still can’t believe our fortune at stumbling on this gem. The square tower of the manor has a clock on each side, each displaying a different time, to represent the timelessness of the hotel. As we drove onto Heathrow we hoped that time doesn’t change Gliffaes before we get back there.
After exploring some Welsh towns and “our lady who knows where we are” leading us down some incredibly narrow country lanes bordered by high walls and creepers, we drove into the Brecon Beacons. When we decided we needed accommodation, we followed a B&B sign off the main road, just north of Crickhowell. At the end of a very long track was a magnificent gate, with gate house, and immaculately manicured garden beyond. We backed out to look elsewhere, but met a couple on the track who were staying there and informed us the cost was less than we had payed in Bibury. 
“Gliffaes” is an old country manor house set amongst 35 acres of gardens, overlooking the Usk river, converted to an hotel. Luxurious but unpretentious. It was a relief to have such friendly staff, and to hear birds chirping instead of police sirens. Their advertising warns “go somewhere else if you want to be packed in thermal mud while you listen to tapes of temple bells.” It is for fly fishers and mountain walkers. 
Birds everywhere, mountain panoramas, babbling river below. We went back to Crickhowell, to “The Bear”, for dinner, and to meet the locals, hoping that they would break out into song. Breakfast at Gliffaes was amazing. Silver service in an elegant dining room, overlooking the Usk valley. 
Muesli, fruit, yoghurt, freshly squeezed orange juice and scrambled egg on a bed of smoked salmon. Gliffaes is well known for it’s value, we still can’t believe our fortune at stumbling on this gem. The square tower of the manor has a clock on each side, each displaying a different time, to represent the timelessness of the hotel. As we drove onto Heathrow we hoped that time doesn’t change Gliffaes before we get back there.
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