Hovingham, and eating it
Clive belts us in and forces us to listen to Count Arthur Strong until we are weak with hilarity and in dire need of assistance from St Ann’s Jombulance. The Blessmobile follows a chain of Ms. Our in-depth survey of Europe’s service stations continues with Tamworth (4.3 on the Max Richter scale). We while away the miles knitting, basket-weaving, and lino-cutting.
The Shed in Hovingham, though not a shed, is perfect. It’s a village hall in the rolling country beyond York, and the lovely Shed-men fill it not only with chairs and candle-topped sawn-off tables, but also with the good folk from the rolling country beyond York. And lemon drizzle cake.
We sleep like stones in stones. The road rollercoasts through trees gone mad with colour. Lemonless drizzle.
