Dawn and the sun creeps up behind the distant trees. Just a slight frost and the promise of a fine day. After the a.m. porridge we donned walking boots and fleeces and set off up the towpath. At High Onn Bridge we turned off onto the lanes, with the recent rain we really didn't fancy mud plugging across the fields.
Water was still running down both sides and the pot holes had to be seen to be believed but
the stark beauty of the bare trees against the winter sky made it worth while.
High Onn House stands tall and dignified at the junction of three unfrequented lanes, just a passing tractor disturbed the peace.
To the east the fields and woods stretched out through the cold haze to the distant hills and to the west,
faint on the horizon, we could just make out the Wrekin. We climbed it once.
A bit further on the impressive late Victorian Little Onn Hall hides behind high hedges.
Back at Little Onn Bridge the Shroppie heads ruler straight south to north.
Back on the boat and it was time for a bowl of Jill's homemade chicken soup, ideal after a cold winter walk.
The ox-tail is simmering on top of the coal stove, ready for tonight's feast, filling the boat with a rich, meaty aroma. Perhaps a nice Rioja to go with it?
I'm sure you will all be pleased to hear that I have shaken off the man 'flu, but now Jill seems to have gone down with a slight cold.
Watch this space..........
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