A thousand miles of history…

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

To be exact, that should be one thousand, one hundred and twenty four miles, but that makes for a bit of a mouthful as a title… and that’s without the other few hundred miles Stuart had to travel between his home in the north and our starting point at mine.

Don’t let the map fool you either. The roads we took were nowhere near as straightforward as they look, but Google Maps can only handle a few places at a time. It would probably explode if I asked it to show all the detours, going-round-in-circles-looking-for-obscure-sites and strange, convoluted routes we chose.

According to my navigator, half the roads are not even marked on the proper paper map we use, and we are pretty certain that many of them exist only as sunbathing spots for the local ovine, bovine and equine population.

All of which, as you might have gathered, means…

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