Upper Slaughter

Lower Slaughter

The mill at Lower Slaughter


SATURDAY 15-6-19

I went to bed last night with ear plugs in, supplied by Morgan Cars yesterday before our factory tour. It did at least help with reducing the generator noise. Had we been staying here for a few days then something would have had to have been done about that but it’s not worth the effort or upset just for a couple of nights.

Having scrubbed up we donned our walking boots and headed down to the village. We had decided to walk to the village of Lower Slaughter before then going up to Upper Slaughter. We’d done this walk before many moons ago but then had made it part of an eleven or twelve mile hike, but not today.

I had my backpack on which contained our waterproof leggings and in to which I stuffed a newspaper, bought from the village shop, which we buy on a Saturday only for it’s very good TV Guide supplement.

So off we trudged towards Lower Slaughter. By the time we had crossed the main road on the edge of the village before taking the footpath across country, it had started to rain. Auntie Beeb had got it wrong again, though fortunately for the rest of the walk they were only showers.

Lower Slaughter is a very pretty place, chocolate box pretty, though I wouldn’t want to live there. Imagine having a constant stream of us visitors spoiling your peace and quiet. So it was good to see that those locals had recognised the effort required in reaching them ion foot and had turned their former phone box in to a secure location for a defibrillator. Up the hill we were to discover that the folk in Upper Slaughter had done the same.

Our return back to Bourton-on-the-Water was made more interesting by a large number of classic cars which were on some kind of rally in the area. They were well spread out providing a regular source of interest. And yes there were even some Morgan’s among them. It must have broken the hearts of the car owners as it was rather wet and the roads rather muddy. I bet once they got them back home they’d be washed thoroughly and re-polished by their appreciative owners.

When we arrived back in ‘Bourton’ I persuaded The Chef that we should buy a portion of chips each for lunch. Good move except that we were at the back of the remnants of a coachload of Yapanses. There were other chippies in the village but we stuck with this one. The Indian couple who ran the shop were doing a terrific job of coping with the orders, and deserved our business for their efforts.

Once outside with our boxes of artery-cloggers I remembered that we still had a couple of bread rolls back at the motorhome, so back we walked swiftly and created a fine dining experience with those chips we hadn’t already munched on the way back.

So that was it really, we spent the rest of the day reading the paper and studying the TV Guide for programmes during the coming week. The Chef was suggesting that we could just make our way home today, but I resisted it because I didn’t want to go back on the road. We’d come this far and I saw no point in hurrying back. We know the weather was going to be miserable for this break and we just needed to endure it, though we are both agreed that in future we won’t go away for a short break if the weather is going to be miserable, but for this trip we were committed to it having booked in advance the vineyard trip and the Morgan Factory tour.