Yesterday as I was waiting for the bus, I started talking to an older lady who was heading into Weston and she told me of what she called the "boy racers," another evening activity in Burnham that is not as gentle as being at the pub. Young boys race their cars up and down the main street along the pier. She says they make so much noise, to as late as 1 a.m., and that they sometimes have wrecks as well. One time, four boys in a car plowed through a stone wall and into the front room of an older couple's home. Luckily the couple wasn't at home but what a mess they came home to. They had it repaired but have put the house up for auction now. I don't think I'd feel very comfortable sitting in the front room either.
The bus ride to church was so pretty, winding through country roads (we'd call them lanes but they are roads in the English vernacular) and through more beautiful villages. As always, I was so glad that I wasn't driving. Even the bus driver seemed a bit frustrated as he had to keep stopping so that a car could inch past him. At one point, we were passing a church that was in session, with cars parked all along the road. And a car coming along in the opposite direction had to stop and back up to let the bus pass; there just wasn't enough room for both to get through. As we went through the outskirts of Weston I saw people parasailing on the water in the bay. Coming into Weston that way I could admire all the lovely Georgian homes near the bay; it looked much prettier than the last time I went, where we mainly were just in the High Street and shops. Funny thing about perspective; I've often had people tell me that they didn't like such-and-such a town they visited whereas I'd found it pretty or vice versa. Sometimes it's just the way you enter a town or the part that you visit. Or sometimes, too, it's whether it was raining or there was sunshine> Yesterday was a sunshiny day, warm enough that I only wore a thin sweater over my dress. So I think that with the gold bouncing off the green of the hills, the white houses glistening and the water on the bay shining, everything just looked that much more beautiful.
The bus driver, who reminded me a bit of Robert Carlisle in Hamish Macbeth, was very kind to me. I told him I'd never been to where I was going to in Weston so when we got into the town, he called me up and asked me the address. Luckily the LDS meetinghouse was on the bus route but he actually stopped right in front of it, especially for me, and told me how to get back as well. However, I didn't need to take the bus back because as soon as I got into the building several people came up to me, asked me about myself and volunteered not only to drive me home but also invited me to dinner as well. I felt well and truly welcomed and the meetings were as uplifting as always.
So I was driven home after the meetings and reminded that I'd have a drive there and back whenever I needed it. When I got home the weather was so lovely that I told Sheila I would take the dogs out along the river(s) again. Two rivers actually flow into one and that's the "sea" here in Burnham-on-Sea; the Parrett and the Bure. The path that I've been walking along is actually 50 miles long. I've done 2 miles on it so far; I am going to go farther afield on it this week. Not with the dogs though; even yesterday the 3 miles I walked were quite sufficient for Muffin. Daisy looked as if she could have gone miles farther though. I got back and all three of us flopped on the couch. Later Sheila made a wonderful meal of baked pork chops and we watched a couple of films on the telly.
A lovely Sunday and here are a few river photos:
And I can't resist posting the English gardens:
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