Tewkesbury: "Is that mint?"

With a lazy day yesterday, we were set to soak up the sun today. We decided to try one of the walks we'd picked up some time ago at the tourist information centre in Tewkesbury: almost nine kilometres, from Tewkesbury to Deerhurst and back, mostly along the River Severn.

After a bit of browsing in Bookworm -- where I found a few more Ward Lock Red Guides -- we started to make our way back to the car, which was parked near the Abbey and the start of our walk. The impressive exterior of the Royal Hop Pole caught my eye, however, and, much to my surprise, Tea was amenable to my mutterings about historical buildings and our only ever visiting Tewkesbury during their winter ale festival (in 2010 and again in 2011). My sort of hike, I thought, moments later, a pint of Grand Prix in hand.

In all honesty, it really is a beautiful hotel. As is the Bell Hotel, further down the road. We'd made it that far when we decided our substantial breakfast of sausages and eggs had been a few too many hours ago. An amazing pork roast later -- with a pint of Greene King's lovely St Edmunds to wash it down, in my case -- we finally felt fit for our challenge.

As we made our way down to the river, the view of the Malvern Hills stopped us short: such colours, and sheep dotting the landscape to near the horizon. It really was a beautiful day, and it was great to see so many people out enjoying it: whenever we passed picnic tables, they bore their namesake. Other families spread out on blankets near the path. (Never to the point of crowding, of course, with that rural British sense of space you'll always find, outside the hubs of London, Brum, etc. anyway.)

We picked out a solitary swing in the distance, as we left the paved road behind at the Cheltenham College Boat House. Tea had to stop for a few minutes, of course. Swinging idly, she pointed at some plants nearby. "Is that mint?" A new fan of real mint tea, I eagerly descended upon it, ready to rub it vigorously to release that wonderful scent. Far too late to alter my course, I hear, "Or is it poison ivy?" The next instant is a bit of a blur, as I yelped, staggering backward and staring at my hand in horror, certain that full needles fashioned of some fibrous matter to rival steel would now be bristling from my fingertips.

I'd imagine I had some sort of run in with stinging nettles in my childhood. You'd never know it, though, the way I wailed, and later snivelled, about my burning, then tingling, extremities. (It's with thoughts of you, dear reader, that I persevere with that pain even now, typing this missive.)

Once we'd reached Odda's Chapel, the guide's author struggled for notable landmarks. Or, rather, we struggled to find them amongst the various pens and fields of a nearby farm. With the sun dipping, we decided to retrace our steps; those views were definitely worth a second look, and the light was even better at that hour.

You can find more pictures from the day in our Tewkesbury to Deerhurst album.

"Are you a *real* Canadian?"

We had a better plan this year, buying a return bus fare that got the six of us to the Tewkesbury Winter Ale Festival a bit before noon -- we'd heard they were limiting the attendance to 300 this year, and didn't want to miss out. I don't know if they got that many, but it was certainly well attended, and better stocked this year, with plenty of choices left on this, the last day. (Last year they had little left but cider less than halfway through the final day.)

A great selection too, that I was largely unfamiliar with: I knew maybe half a dozen of the 70 ales available! Favourites included Orkney's Raven -- lovely nose, almost like pine needles -- Black Ops (can't remember the brewer) and a whopper, at 10%, called... Old Thakey? Thakes? Something like that; more like a port than an ale, but really smooth and tasty. [Correction: I didn't do too bad, actually: the Raven was by Thornbridge, Black Ops was by Salopian (the same folks that do the Lemon Dream that Tea and her friend, Liv, love), and, finally, the whopper was Thomas Sykes Ale by Burton Bridge. Thanks to Matt for digging out the pamphlet.] The entertainment was also excellent: the Tewkesbury town band, followed by Six Nations rugby on the big screen.

On one trip to the cask room, Tea was stopped by two gentlemen serving food, "Are you a real Canadian?" pointing at her recently acquired Roots swag.

"Yeeesss."

"We have a question for you: how do Eskimos bury their dead?"

Tea, Matt (a fellow Canadian) and I exchanged looks and shrugs. I don't think they believed any of our suggestions, which included cremation and boat graves. (We had no clue. Turns out the answer is just like us, and, historically, under cairns.)

Awesome mustard we'd had earlier

Good times. We hit the Bank House for some grub once back in town, followed by a nightcap at a friend's place. Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the festival.