The Drover's Arms for Pud

 

We walked the river today at the edge of the village that gave us James Herriot, again. Our walk was stunning, mostly, with sheep, cows, giant bunny rabbits, bulls, and ducks poking along behind us. We didn't even balk at the bulls because their great eyes were busy elsewhere. 

We had meant to go out early when it was still cool. But there were things to do because somebody wonderful had gotten on a plane and flown over the Pond! Mother-of-Hudson had, in a flurry of preparation and sleeplessness, organized the family, the laundry, the food, the animals, the cleaning, the activity level while she was away (this was a huge proportion of her planning because one small boy has so much of it), and her own considerable packing. 

Everything had to be timed right, because once the plane had landed, there would be delayed trains (disappointing) and taxis to call (embarrassing) with all the changes, and then in desperation not to miss her next train, Mother-of-Hudson almost leapt out of one train and into another with only seconds to spare. 

 While Hudson and I walked and she rode on trains, we saw all sorts of interesting people. There were a group of ladies from India following a tour guide with a clipboard, a group of young teenage boys who argued amongst themselves about following directions. Apparently they were meant to find their own way from Grassington to the village of Hebdon, and it wasn't going very well. Their arguing was heated and did not indicate love and laughter, and peace ever after. So we went quietly past, and their words faded into oblivion.

Their arguing wasn't the only thing heated. WE were heated.

"I don't know if we are going to make it," said the grandmother, who was hot.

There was concern from the face of the soon-to-be man. He thought his grandmother was a brick because she could do many things not everyone's else's grandma could. We kept walking until he said the Old School House Tea Room was up ahead, and wouldn't it be nice to have something like that? Particularly tea. And why not call an Uber while we ate? It seemed a smashing idea because I was hot. So I ordered up an Uber. Then the phone died. Then we called my husband. Then the young teenaged boys from the trail began to populate the space around us. Then their teacher asked where in the world they had been for such ages. Then a bus came. Then we got on it. Then the ladies from India showed up and smiled and said thank you to their tour guide. Then we went to our hotel and did nothing but sit until Mother-of-Hudson pulled up in her taxi. 

And it was her birthday, so we went to the Drover's Arms Pub (where the tv show was filmed) and celebrated it! Sitting outside and eating Sticky Toffee Pudding at the end was the final and most wonderful part of a long, hot day. Together at last.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady