Mission

Popping across the road from Paul's house, we entered Devil's Dyke, an ancient Iron Age earthwork dug by hand by the Catuvellauni tribe before Julius Caesar kicked their arses in 54BC.

But we weren't bothered about ancient monuments, we had a mission...

Paul had discovered a stash of sloes, which we plundered. Sloe Gin for Christmas.

Then to The John Bunyan, a McMullens pub, which we reached, thirsty as camels.

Tactlessly, I asked the landlord which real ale wasn't made by McMullens. He replied suspiciously "Zeppelin... what's wrong with Macs?"

"It's fucking horrible," I said.

Then the balloon went up...