For months Kim and I had been training hard for the Clarendon Marathon. We’d been out in all weathers, mostly wet, walking miles and miles to prepare ourselves for what lay ahead. Of course, neither of us really knew what lay ahead, except that it would be hilly, or at least the last part would be. What I wasn’t prepared for though, was a horrible cold, striking me in the week leading up to the big day. In an attempt to get rid of it quickly I took tons of Lemsip and had lots of sleep and rest but, when the big day arrived, I felt dreadful and it was clear my cold was going nowhere fast.
We’d taken the shortest, straightest route from the Cathedral to Old Sarum but, when I’d been planning the trip, I’d seen what I thought was another, far more scenic route. Whether it was actually possible to walk it was another matter so I thought I’d save it for the return journey. If we got completely lost we’d just keep walking south and hope we’d find Salisbury eventually… Probably. Continue reading Homeward bound, trails, haunted bridges, shopping trolleys and mills
When we got inside the cathedral one of the first things we noticed was another of the strange, colourful knights, this was smaller than the first. Something about it felt very familiar and, when I spotted a whole row of them behind him, I realised what it was. this was a sculpture trail like our very own rhinos. Later Googling told me it was called the Baron’s Charter Trail, set up by the Trussell Trust and Wild in Art to celebrate eight hundred years of Magna Carta. It started on 12 June and ends on 6 September. If only I’d known earlier I’d have done some research and we could have gone hunting. Continue reading Salisbury cathedral, a slight case of sensory overload
Eight hundred years ago the tyrant King John was forced to sign Magna Carta at Runnymead. Parchment copies were sent out to the English county courts and, today, four of those copies survive. One is currently on display at Salisbury Cathedral and it was Commando’s idea for me to take CJ to have a look at it. Many years ago I regularly frequented a pub called The George in Salisbury and the spire of the cathedral has often felt like the first sight of home at the end of long journeys. Even so, I’d never visited the cathedral and I couldn’t remember the last time I visited Salisbury. All in all it seemed like a good plan for the last day of my holiday so, early on Wednesday morning, we got on a train bound for Wiltshire. Continue reading A different shire, a tall spire and Magna Carta