Croxton Kerrial, 16 December 2012

The rain was still drizzling down at breakfast time, but the sun had started shining by the time we gathered in front of the medieval church – and the blue skies stayed with us all day.  Off we went on the old salt road, a brief spell of tarmacked tramping soon giving way to copious mud, the local herd of hippos having evidently beaten us to it. 

Having paused briefly to note the location of a burnt-out motorbike, we had soon finished the day’s section of the Viking Way, and reached the edge of the airfield, which was just about elevenses. 

After over-shooting somewhat in the World War Two section of the walk, a quick course correction got us to the pub exactly on time – publicans take note, this one opened just for us and sold quite a few pints as a result.

From there, we headed off over the hills, past where the abbey once stood and up to Windmill Hill, for the most popular historical anecdote of the day (which I’m not going to spoil here as we may use it again!), and down in to the Vale of Belvoir proper to swing past Branston, sauntering back into Croxton Kerrial just as dusk arrived.  Then, crucially, scones!