Waiting in Braintree. The old café, always a place of warmth, steam and toast, is a café still, but "ceramic" now, so I imagine you get to design your crockery, and, for regulars, drink all your tea in your own china ...An oriental man is struggling to make his query intelligible. We think, improbably, that he wants the
Fire Station. He agrees, and we send him off in that direction.
The 21 arrives early.
Onwards, through Bocking, the Four Releet, the very road I travelled daily to school, each bend so well known that I could navigate it blind by the seat of my pants. Past the lane, and the half-timbered Sparrows, today's Dream Home in The Times.
A group of tourists alight in the village, and set off up the drive towards Gosfield Hall.
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