Cotswolds Way - Day 4
Charlton Kings to Birdlip today — and yes, it’s Birdlip with a silent L, for anyone not from these parts.
Yesterday’s digs threw me a curveball — turns out the bar and restaurant were booked out for a function that afternoon, meaning us hotel guests were politely told “no food for you.” Would’ve been nice to know in advance, but there you go. I did manage to sweet-talk a pint out of them before the party took over, so small wins. Hunger eventually got the better of me, so I trundled 0.7 miles to the nearest pub for a very… average fish and chips. On the way back, I stopped at a garage (gas station, for my North American friends) and grabbed a couple of beers and some snacks for today. Try doing that in Canada!
This morning, I decided against my sat nav’s “through the fields” route, opting instead for the tarmacked road — which brought me neatly back to the spot where I landed on my backside yesterday. From there it was straight into more leafy corridors. Lawrence, if you’re reading this — you were spot on about the “walking under trees” thing.
A few miles in, I had a decision: stick to the official path, or detour half a mile to the local gun club for another stamp in my Cotswold Way Passport. The completionist in me won. As I walked up the driveway, the gunfire left no doubt I was in the right place. Then it hit me — I’d been here before, for part of my stag do many moons ago. A proper full-circle moment. I left with my passport stamped, a coffee, and a freshly warmed Danish pastry in hand.
While waiting for the pastry, I noticed a magazine in the lounge. Let’s just say it looked exactly like a certain prop from a well-known film. I won’t say which film, but if you know, you know. Answers in the comments, please — and no cheating on Google.
Back on the trail, the day was a familiar mix of fields, bracken-lined paths, and the occasional Severn Valley panorama. A short ridge walk took me past yet another golf course (still not playing, still not tempted), where I spotted a heart-shaped rock formation. Neolithic? Bronze Age? Or just a lucky shape? I should probably have paid more attention in history at school.
Soon I was walking through Leckhampton Hill, an Iron Age hillfort where the positions of the wooden post holes are marked out. You get a real sense of the scale of the place, which was cool. I grabbed an ice cream, poked around a little book swap (spotting Ash by James Herbert and a book about Sir Alex Ferguson — both left untouched, as I had nothing to swap), and carried on. Clearly, the Iron Age residents had good taste in literature.
From the opposite hill, I saw a downhill mountain bike park under construction. Even at about a tenth the size of the ones in Whistler, it looked pretty fun. Then came my least favourite part: crossing a busy A-road with two lanes of non-stop traffic, a heavy pack, and all the grace of a nervous game of real-life Frogger.
Finally, I rolled into The Royal George in Birdlip and met a lovely couple, Kai and Alexandria (forgive me if I’ve spelled that wrong). They’re walking half the Cotswold Way to Painswick, using it as a test for something far more ambitious: walking the entire length of New Zealand. I didn’t catch the exact mileage, but it’s enough to make my sabbatical look like a weekend stroll.
Tomorrow? Absolutely nothing. My left thigh and Achilles are politely insisting on a break. I’d love to say it’s all part of a carefully crafted trail strategy… but honestly? It’s pure luxury.
