A wintry wander around Winchcombe

When we got back from the Caribbean I somehow ended up hardly leaving the house for nearly a week. This is one of the perils of working from home; you get cosy and it’s easy to just stay cocooned indoors for days at a time. Having seen some nice photos of Winchcombe on Instagram, I decided to make it my destination for a much-needed afternoon out.


As Cotswolds towns go, it’s probably fair to say that Winchcombe isn’t one of the best-known. Though it’s full of Cotswold charm, it’s not quite a Burford, a Broadway or a Chipping Campden. This proved to be a good thing because as you can see, I practically had the whole place to myself. That said, it is on the Gloucestershire-Warwickshire Railway, so perhaps it’s busier on days when trains are running?


Conscious of how much I’d eaten on the cruise, I resisted the temptation to indulge in a treat from this lovely bakery. But I’m a great admirer of a bow window, to say nothing of the ‘well-placed bike‘.


In common with all Cotswolds settlements, Winchcombe is replete with cosy-looking cottages. Note to self: go back in the spring when all the roses are out.


On the subject of spring, a cheery display of spring bulbs outside the florist supplied cause for optimism. I like the winter up until Christmas, but January and February do have a tendency to drag on. It’s at this time of year that one starts to look for every tentative sign of spring approaching; tiny buds starting to appear on the trees, birds gathering materials for making nests, the green shoots of snowdrops, crocuses and daffodils breaking through the wintry earth.


Spring bulbs notwithstanding, it was a freezing day and after walking around taking lots of photos, I decided to seek refuge in one of the town’s historic pubs. I picked this one, thinking that with its jolly bunting and cute name it looked the perfect choice, but alas – it was a mistake. On entering the pub I immediately noted the fruit machine (a sure sign that a pub is not for me) and general lack of atmosphere, but by the time I’d been stared at by every occupant like some kind of freak of nature – a lone woman! – it would have felt too awkward to turn around and go straight back out.


I spent an uncomfortable twenty minutes or so writing in my diary while I sipped a glass of wine (they didn’t even do Prosecco by the glass!) before making a hasty exit. Not the best end to an otherwise enjoyable outing, but perhaps pubs like the Ebrington Arms have given me impossibly high standards! Having shared this tale of pub-based woe on Instagram several people recommended The Lion, so I shall certainly be trying that one on my next visit…

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