Travel Reference
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'Würzel will be signing autographs at the Swan Rescue stand in about half an hour.'
It was time to leave Newent.
We gave our thanks to Rob for our unbelievable time in Newent, and he thanked us for
our hard work, and gave us both a cup of his wife's 'world famous' onion soup and some
bread.
On the way out of town, we called into a greengrocer and asked the lady if she had a
couple of old bananas that she could spare. We both felt the need for some fruit or veget-
ables (other than onions), to help our bodies recover from the shock of the meat feast we
had eaten the night before. After she had heard about our challenge, she got so excited that
she filled a carrier bag with grapes, apples, pears, peaches, plums and bananas.
'This should keep you going,' she said. 'Good luck, guys.' We ate as much of the fruit
as we could, and then hung the rest of the bag from The Horse's handlebars. Ludlow was
50 miles away, and we set our sights on getting there by the end of the day.
SoonafterleavingNewentourroutecrossedtheM50andintoHerefordshire.Myknow-
ledge of English counties was, and still is, awful, but the bike ride did fill in few gaps for
me. For example, the realisation that Herefordshire is not just a misspelling of Hertford-
shire. Ask me to name all 50 US states and I could give it a good go, but ask me anything
aboutEnglishcounties,oranyBritishgeographyforthatmatter,andIamcompletely clue-
less.
We reached the town of Bromyard at about 2pm and stopped by a pub on the edge of
town. The large beer garden was packed full of people and there were Morris Dancers per-
forming.
Astheywereprancingaroundandhittingtheirsticks,BeninventedhisownMorrisDan-
cers' song which he sang along in perfect time to the music and the click of their sticks:
'I'll bash yours, you bash mine. Let's play willy games.'
It was such a childish comment, and one that had come completely out of the blue, but
it was several minutes before I stopped laughing.
'It's just not right is it? Grown men dressed like that, frolicking around with their bells,
sticks and stupid clothes. They give me the creeps,' he said.
'I agree. It should be made illegal.'
It turned out that Bromyard was hosting its annual Folk Festival, and the different Mor-
ris dancing groups were having some sort of 'dance-off' to see who the best was. In our
eyes, there were no winners, only losers.
A pig roast was being served, and we decided to try our luck at getting some lunch. We
joined the long queue of people and Morris Dancers (yes I know, Morris Dancers are hu-
man beings, too) and waited our turn.
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