There's an old 16th century proverb which states:

"So oft goeth the pitcher to the well, that at last it commeth broken home."

Frankly I know what they mean. In the last four days, I've been to The Well so often, I'm flat broke. Not that I'm worried. I might not be able to pay the rent this month, but I can live off my fat until Christmas.

And besides, it was worth it. I may be putting the bulk back into Bulkington, but hey, you only live once. And not for long at this weight. So with that in mind, Lisa and I took Big Sis back to The Well for Sunday lunch yesterday. For Sis, the experience was a slight disappointment, but to be honest, that was her own fault for being vegetarian. She refused to order all the decent dishes on a point of principle, and then complained that her pasta was too cheesy. I think she's protein-intolerant. Frankly it's a miracle she had the strength to lift her fork.

Lisa and I, however, went away happy, and having done the verbal equivalent of singing 'We'll Meet Again' (emphasis on the meat) with the proprietor, we parted company until our next trip to Wiltshire.

On the way back to Devizes, we stopped off for a photo at Caen Hill Locks, the steepest uphill waterway this side of the log flume at Alton Towers...


To be honest, the locks weren't the only uphill struggle involved in that picture. I had Big Sis parked illegally in a resident's driveway, and Lisa standing in the middle of the road with a camera, just to get that one photo. It's a miracle I look so relaxed.

Ultimately though, all good things must come to an end. So having pigged out at Bulkington and felt locked out at Caen Hill, Lisa and I packed our bags and returned home to Brighton this afternoon. We'd received this photo by e-mail last night, and we couldn't wait to get back...


Not to see her smiling, but to stop her eating those crisps.