Chasing the gypsies...

I ducked back into the moors - went round the other side this time - rootled out my old flatmate in Barcelona, Arlo. We lived high up a flight of stone steps in San Pere, right above the most gruesome, twisted family you could ever imagine. They would snarl and belch and shout in their bestial dialect and we would conjure up all sorts of scenarios we imagined they might be engaged in.

We had a fun night in the local boozer - conveniently situated right next door to their house. It's proper Last of the Summer Wine land where the pub feels like this great communal arena, made a home of by everyone in all the surrounding lanes. We drank Thwaites and gin & tonics then went back to the house for Arlo's mum's famed sausage plait - a great tome of juicy sausage meat closely swathed in crumbly, buttery shortcrust pastry and eaten with shredded spring greens and mashed potato. It went right well wit' Thwaites.

We went out to explore the moors the next day where wild ponies run and relics from the Ice Age abound...and then I bolted and discovered this pair trudging off to Appleby for the big horse fair.