Last bus to Woodstock

May you live in interesting times! Today, what might be called a "lay day" from the perspective of the rugby world cup, indeed, all world cup things which are presently dormant, proved to be a day of unexpected.

But back to the beginning.  After the long drive back from Leeds and York, having observed the heart felt dismissal of Canada's RWC chances at the hands of the dirty wops from Italy, and enjoyed the exceptional hospitality of friend Peter Lyons, the first apparent coincidence occurred - without prior warning. Lounging down main street York, who should we happen to run across, but the Very reverend Mervyn Simmons and Group (Helen and Maree).  Arrangements were hastily entered into enabling them to take up overnight digs in Woodstock, and to participate in the demolition of the Holy Trinity of red wines, at the Star Inn, followed by a finalisation of the rum and gin duty free.

Monday morning was a dismal affair with headaches all round, until a long walk around Blenheim Palace (Winston Churchill's birthplace, and home of the 10th Duke of Marlborough, but otherwise a crafty open house to extract funds from punters).  We jumped the back fence to avoid the tolls, and strolled the grounds and palace for a couple f hours, then adjourned to the Star again for wound licking, and lunch.

Todd from Thailand joined us to explain cultural differences viz a viz the King, and showing one's feet in public, and now back to the story.

You will see above the very excellent Stout Peter provided to me as a gift!  Now it is just an empty bottle.  But that is only the part of it.

When we arrived home at 100 Oxford Rd, a note had been left by the police (see below)