Ludlow

15th November 2023

Well, what can we tell you this week? Having charged up the carriage, we packed our hand luggage and set off to Ludlow, in search of reward. Our behaviours have been notably excellent of late and something needed to be done about it. Travelling a route most rural, hindered not, by footpad nor vagabond, we settled upon a delightful traders market, whereupon several sovereigns were exchanged, notably for untrialled cheeses and a sterling silver ring. Later, desperate for new attire, we came across the most perfect little hippie shop, ‘Kaboodle’. Finding ourselves in need of replenishment, we dipped into The Feathers Hotel, where we were able to utilise the latrines and order some refreshments. Resting our weariness on golden covered thrones, we sipped on our beverages whilst the hounds napped contentedly at our feet. As the darkness descended our supper was perfect; a bag of chips on a street bench. Full to bursting, unable to eat any more, we idled by the light of our lantern, towards our dog friendly hotel. Thoroughly exhausted, we settled down for the night, looking forward to the following day, not least the hearty morgenmete, which was included in the price. 

Ludlow Revisited, February 2024

Well, we have been washed out, quite literally, following this revisitage to the mediaeval market town of Ludlow. Within a few hours of arrival, both Chumley and Muttlet were completely shattered; exhausted from the drudgery that sits hand-in-hand with a relentless quagmire, that rebarbative pairing of precipitation and soil. It has to be said, the Teme was hellacious, most particularly at the point of the weir. And, as this raucous river curled its way around the town, an unwaning sedulous tongue spat out a venomous froth, as would the enraged snollygoster, who struggled to vent his spleen following a humiliating public put-down by the opposition. 

Stepping through the portal, into an interesting emporium of antiquities, nothing jumped out to tempt us. Infact, we made no personal purchases on this visitation, not even on the creamiest of cheeses, though we did spend some of our valuable coinage on comforting food, within the warmth of an alehouse known as The Queens. As both beanie hats were left to steam upon a radiator, beverages were quaffed and surroundings discussed. Scrolled on a wall, up high, was the tale of the betrayed lover, Marion de la Bruyere, who had leapt to her death from a castle turret and is said to haunt its grounds. The following day, as we walked around the castle, we came across a pair of glasses, lost upon a bench. We hoped that they weren't hers, for sadly, she will have something else to wail about if she can't now see. The poor wretched lady, it seems that when you're down, you're down.

To break up the journey home, we paused to rest, taking in a little light refreshment at a locally revered, riverside hostelry, known as The Boat Inn. Albeit, it was rather challenging on the purse strings, thus one doubts that we shall make a return visit.

Happy to be back at the homestead, we unpacked our overnight bags before settling down to chill out. As Chumley snored contentedly, he remained unperturbed by a barking Muttlet, who, for some reason or other, had taken umbrage at a posing pigeon outside. And, as the full moon’s glow shone through the window pane, it served to bathe us all in a heavenly, glorious light. I smiled to see my family so full, sated from the warmth of contentment. Secretly, my inner hopes remained unchanged; that each of us will always dream of a million sunbeams, and possibly sometimes more…