Light at the end of the trunnel...

....well, half a trunnel. This is one of my favourite places, the Saxon Mill in Warwick. You kinda have to know about it, I don't think it's a tourist destination by any means. Anyway, it is what it says on the tin, a Saxon Mill. It smells old. Very very old. Centuries of wet timber, and ancient. The Mill is stone built with tiny doors for a tiny population.

The Avon forces it's way through a weir and the result is dramatic, even in a dry summer. It spreads out into a widened area, overlooked at the other end by Guys Cliffe House; the burnt out remains of what must have been at one time an extraordinarily beautiful mansion and apparently owned by the Masons, who according to local gossip, sometimes play their little games there. Who knows?

When the river is in flood, it is spectacular and incredibly frightening. After a night out in town, we'd often go there late at night, the path unlit, the noise of the water deafening; daring ourselves to go on. The bridge across the weir is now repaired, (some boring nonsense about Elf n Safety) but in those days it used to have missing and broken planks.... Yep, that got the adrenalin racing.

Today was fun; having sent the night at my parents, we took the kids and hound to get some fresh air. Much laughter. Even better, no one fell in. Marvellous.

I took lots of pics today, but most have gone on to FB. It really is hard to choose just one for here.

Feeling the call to come Home.

Night folks x