There wasn’t a bridge at Bridgetown. The Inn was Bridge’s Inn ... Bridgetown.Just like the town with the bank ... Pain’s wick. Named after a lam... that burned its igniter. Painswick. Remember ... these towns and villages were kidnapped from dark to middle-ages England. The names don’t have to mean anything.A few miles down the road ... trail ... path ... we came to a clearing. It was idyllic ... even the fire pit was stocked with wood. The spring that bubbled at the base of the rock cliff. Well it was something I readily agreed to and sure enough Joe concurred with a definite glint in his eyes.We had arranged to meet at their home the following Sunday afternoon but I received a message on Friday evening to say that owing to an emergency (family returning from Uni unexpectedly) they would not be able to host our meet. We hastily arranged a plan b which was a Travel lodge type room at a motorway service station! Well we weren’t planning to be their more than a few hours and. More

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