Broad Ford, on the Avon

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Our holiday in Japan was brilliant, but Mitsu and I had little time to ourselves, so we thought we needed one. Nothing like a day off to get over your weeks off...

Country pub by car, or by train? The former precludes a lunch time pint, so train it was. Bradford-on-Avon is only 15 minutes by little train on the Portsmouth/Southampton line, and follows the Kennet and Avon Canal (sometimes being only a few metres away), so it's a both short and picturesque trip.

A potted history of the town, in a very small pot, goes as follows. Known for its Broad Ford, Bradford developed in the Saxon period as a centre for the British wool industry. This continued through the Industrial Revolution, and into the 19th century. Timber then made a brief appearance as the town's main source of income before the rubber industry dominated until the end of the 20th. It's very pretty, has very, very English architecture- from Saxon to modern (although the modern stuff's not that nice), but is thankfully largely, er, old stuff.

Our main intention for the day was to walk along the river to the Cross Guns pub for that excellent British pastime of partaking in 'a spot of lunch'. The sun was out, although it was at the extreme end of blustery (but we were more or less suitably attired), so we ventured forth. Because Autumn is emerging, a lot of the leaves are changing, but it's mostly the diseased horse chestnut (conker) trees which are turning so far. As an aside, this disease, I found out recently, is caused by a parasite- the symptoms are blotchy leaves. As all good parasites should, though, the tree is not hampered in its activities of photosynthesis and making conkers. (There is a word for this kind of — non-fatal — parasite, but I can't remember what it is. Answers on a postcard, please.)

I digress. It took about an hour to reach the pub, which is at Dundas, the point where the Avon and Kennet Canal crosses over the Avon. It does it some ten metres above it on a stunning aquaduct, from which there are Oscar-winner-approved views. The pub is good, old-fashioned, bordering on tatty (as all decent pubs should be), does a splendid line of Ales, and a standard but solid menu. We walked back to town along the canal, wishing we had a dog, and decided to have a poke about before heading home. The lovely lady we spoke to at tourist information was extremely helpful, and she sent us over a bridge, past a Saxon church, up some steep alleyways to what used to be weaver's cottages, then down again and round town.

The cottages are gorgeous- each one room deep and three stories high, they're now bonkers expensive (£300,000+ for a one-bed?!). Because the hillside is so steep, they face onto a slim path and have little terraced gardens on the other side of the path. The views face south across the wide plain to the hills beyond, and are quite something; you can see for miles on a clear day (which this was). We got chatting to one of the locals outside his cottage, and he filled us in on the last century's history of BoA, where the cottage owners park (further up the hill), as well as chipping in on global economics, and how David Cameron is only pretending to be 'the people's person' as a ploy to claim undeserved political legitimacy. A true gem.

Back down the steep hill, we were overtaken by schoolkids running down it, laughing 'shit! shit! shit!', as the steepness precludes stopping for long sections. The town centre is much of a muchness. It's a very pretty provincial town, has decent enough shops, but too much traffic on the main roads.

That was Bradford. Definitely well worth the trip on a nice day, and one to drag visitors off to, provided they don't mind the walking. Train home for toast and crumpets, without the crumpets: I'm getting plump, so reducing my calory intake. (Let's just say that the walking cancelled out the pint and pub lunch, shall we?!)

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