Things started so well for our planned few days away. My second vaccination appointment was potentially due to coincide with the dates that we had chosen but fortuitously, the call came through for day 77 and not days 79-84. We even managed to finally get Chris’ second vaccination, which was nearly three weeks overdue, for the same day. Beyond that, matters began to go downhill a little. On the morning of departure, my laptop developed a probably terminal blue screen of death. Bother (or similar sentiment). I had things I needed to do both before leaving and while I was away. Frantic appeals went out for Chris to pack his, which uses different software making it less than ideal. I also looked out my ancient ‘on-its-last-legs’ net book, which has the right programmes but an irritatingly tiny typo-engendering keyboard. It also experiences periodic blue screen of deathness but fortunately it limps on.

Having left just a little later than planned in order to take the laptop to computer hospital we set off in torrential rain for the caravan site. On arrival, whilst enjoying a welcome cup of coffee, I struggled with the teeny tiny laptop and discovered, to my alarm, that I had booked a site that doesn’t have wifi. That’s not strictly true, wifi is advertised; it is just that to access it you have to stand on one leg under a tree in the rain by the car park. This means that all the map checking and itinerary planning I was intending to do on arrival had to be achieved by guesswork. We contented ourselves with a wander along a local footpath. The beech trees were sporting their new-minted leaves and there were bluebells, cowslips and wild strawberries in flower.

The next day dawned and the forecast rain was not in evidence. I investigated the hotspot from the safety of the car. This was not without its challenges. The worn out teeny tiny laptop has a battery life of several milliseconds, it also has a ‘battery-saving,’ almost unreadably dull, screen when not plugged in. Seventy odd emails, that had been sent in the preceding twenty four hours, came hurtling in. We attempted to book tickets to visit a National Trust property, which only became available today. Despite it appearing to be successful, no confirmatory email arrived.

Next, we set off to investigate some villages once inhabited by the Fews and associated families. A combination of pandemic restrictions and the ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ nature of the places on the itinerary, meant that the duration of our explorations had to be directly related to bladder capacity. We were in the chalk vales of Wiltshire, a land of ancient earthworks and army camps. There were some very picturesque and probably incredibly expensive, houses, with many more retaining their thatched roofs than you find further west. There were also several thatched cob walls.

We took a look at the fields in the area, where an ancestress was working at harvest-time when she was taken ill and died, then moved on to the small village of Wootton Rivers. Next up was the Savernake Forest, allegedly a nature reserve with potential for a walk. We spectacularly failed to find any car park or way in that was not accompanied by signs reading ‘private’. We decided that we might try again another day. We drove through Marlborough. By co-incidence, I was there virtually just two days previously. Then a quick look at Devizes, a much larger settlement, before heading back to the van via the spread out village of Woodborough. Just time to stop off at Woodhenge as we passed by. Although this was once a prehistoric site, with large wooden uprights arranged in concentric circles, it is now concrete henge as the wood, unsurprisingly, does not survive, so short concrete bollards indicate where the pillars once stood.

Back at the van and footpath walk done, I returned on foot to the ‘hotspot’ to send the replies to the morning’s emails. Ironically, the sun put in a weak appearance at this point. Without the shelter of the car, the screen was completely illegible. My helpful companion suggested that I put my coat over my head and the computer. I will own that this did solve the problem but I looked like a total idiot in a public place. I was reassured that ‘there’s nobody about’ but the sound of footsteps belied this. I suppose at least hiding under my coat meant I was anonymous. For reasons that will become apparent, you will be reading this once I have returned to the comfort of my internet enabled home.