We have walked the ancient tracks of England, from Offa’s Dyke to the Ridgeway, traipsed through the steep hills and green meadows of the Peak District and Yorkshire Dales, followed the Thames from source to sea, clambered to the tops of Dorset’s highest hills, and met many other challenges and adventures. Once we were chased from a Thames path by a very angry swan—you’d have fled, too, believe me—but otherwise our adventures have been pretty largely marked by hardiness, fortitude, and courage in the face of cows, with just tiny amounts of bitching here and there.This year for various reasons we could only get together for three days, so we decided to meet at a hotel in Lyndhurst, in the heart of the New Forest, which pleased me very much. I lived for two years on the edge of the New Forest near Christchurch when I worked in Bournemouth as a young man, and have spent many a happy Saturday tramping around there. It’s a lovely area. If you are from another country, you may need to be told that the New Forest isn’t in fact new and not even altogether a forest.
What do You think about The Road To Little Dribbling?
