The eggs of the swan

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

After the festivities of the afternoon, there was time for a convivial meal with all our friends at the George and Pilgrim, the 15th century inn that still houses guests, history and ghosts. The town was busy with the Beltane celebrations and it took a little ad hoc rearranging of the dining tables to ensure we could all sit together and talk. There is never enough time to talk.

By this time, I was coughing and spluttering in good earnest; the cold seemed to be offended that I was ignoring it and decided it would try being bronchitis instead in order to gain attention. The rain that had been at least reasonably cooperative during the day was also threatening to make its presence known. Morgana suggested the party should walk up to the Eggstone on the Tor in the fading light. Common sense should probably have prevailed, but the combination…

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