Get out of town ….

Yeah, we did. Right out of town in fact. Down the M3, sat on the M25 and then numerous A roads all containing at least two number 3’s and we were there; our country bolt hole, otherwise known as the house belonging to our Wiltshire based chums.

We cleverly opted to drive to them on Friday evening rather than Saturday morning thus extending our time there. And, as expected, they took great care of us from the outset, with shepherd’s pie, vegetables and plenty of ale served up within an hour of arriving.

Saturday kicked off with a cooked breakfast (sweeeeeet) and then on with the wellies for our prerequisite hike through the picturesque villages that surround Wilton, keeping the 600 year old wall of Wilton House to our left and heading, most definitely for the Victoria and Albert.

Pub that is.

Not the museum.

We had planned to stay for an hour or so but, thanks to some perfectly timed heavy rain, we ended up spending nearly 3 hours firmly ensconced within arms reach of the bar, sat across the room from a hearty, roaring fire, ale flowing slowly but oh-so steadily, big bowls of chips with ketchup and plenty of domino playing going on.

While slightly disappointing, it is probably a very good thing that the pubs in this neck of the woods close at 2.30pm as the urge to stay put, looking out of the rain beaten windows was getting stronger with each sip.

Joseph and Annabel enjoyed themselves with our hosts not only teaching them dominoes but also showing them card tricks for about an hour, amazing them and us.

Would he divulge any of his secrets? No he would not, bloody show off!

An evening of food and drink followed (not to mention too much honey brandy if my churning head and stomach the next morning had anything to go by), as well as a Sunday stroll in the shadow of the impressive Salisbury Cathedral and a visit to a mutual friend to see their house with the amazing views.

I remember being young and my Dad wanting to look at houses, trying to dazzle us with information of how old this was or what year that was built but I don’t remember it ever quite sparking my interest.

Of course, the inevitability of us all turning into our parents (at least a little) is certainly valid in my case, especially where houses are concerned, not to mention lichen covered walls that surround stately homes. As last year, we visited our chums a week too early to actually visit Wilton House but I suppose that is quite lucky as it requires us to go back and impose on them again later in the year.

If we’re invited of course!