“Let’s walk to the pub,” I said.
Except that the pub was a good hour away across rarely-trodden and newly saturated fields, we had four young children in tow, one of them in a pram, and only a handful of daylight hours left to get there, get fed and watered, and get back.
But what else are you going to do on a Sunday afternoon in the country in Autumn?
The pub in question was The Stile Bridge, and the walk took us across and along the River Beult – in spate after all the recent rain – through water meadows and past ancient oaks and, bizarrely, via the home circuit of the Kent Model Rallycross Club.
Lunch was excellent: roast beef with all the trimmings, washed down with Gadds’ No. 5 from Ramsgate.
We took a more direct route home along country lanes, but finished up walking through a large muddy field that was home to more than a dozen inquisitive horses, eyeing us warily and hungrily in silhouette against the setting sun. Some of our party later revealed that the horse encounter was, frankly, terrifying. Though not the children.
We arrived home in darkness, lit a fire, and had tea and scones with May’s Kitchen strawberry jam.
If you’re a simple soul, like me, it doesn’t get much better than that.