Saturday.
The sun was shining and we expected to be busy but we were surprised by a group of lycra clad cyclists who arrived before we’d even opened.
I couldn’t turn them away.
Cyclists are cake eaters.
A couple arrived soon after, “We followed the cyclists,” they said, “they always know the best places for refreshments.”
Then another couple.
We still hadn’t officially opened.
Then a man and his dog came in.
“I’m in shock,” was his opening statement, “I’ve just found my own name on a headstone in the churchyard. Robert Ward. It says he died in the mid 19th century.”
I told him the Wards were the Earls of Dudley, and this could be his ancestral home. He looked sceptical.
“I think we’d have been the poor relations,” he said.
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