Better Than Life?

We popped out for a walk on Tuesday evening to smell the scents of evening, cool air releasing the sweetness of the hay. We strolled past a beautiful cotswolds stone cottage with flowers clustering around the door - then spotted the sign propped against the door post - 'Fresh Eggs for Sale'. A little old woman opened the door and smiled delightedly when we asked to buy some. £1.50 for a dozen. Why wouldn't you? They are beautiful, large and brown and still covered in ... well, they are clearly authentic.

Then last night, we went out for another stroll. We heard trotting, then saw a pony and trap, flanked by two outriders, trotting smartly past us. We'd only just recovered from this when we heard bells, shouting and an oompah band. There were two troupes of Morris Dancers in the beer garden of the Merrie Lion. How could we resist? We bought some drinks and watched the swirl of burgundy skirts and red and gold ribbons, listened to the jangle of bells and the stomping of shiny clogs, smiled at the happy sweating faces. It looks fun, I'll give it that.

Walking home, we asked each other - did that really happen? Or have we become game-heads?

(I hope you've read Red Dwarf)