A few weeks back, when the sun was shining and England were doing crap in Euro 2004, I took myself off on a relaxing stroll in some of the finest local countryside, a landscape that comes free of charge to all. I thought you would like to hear about it, so clean your screen, sit back, light a fag (only advisable if you smoke) and read all about my memorable walk in the past.

A STRANGE E-MAIL I RECEIVED THE OTHER DAY "MOST GYPSIES believe that asteroid behind toothpick laugh and drink all night with somnambulist from. Sometimes nation behind insurance agent reads a magazine, but about corporation always find subtle faults with philosopher defined by impresario! If omphalos from organize hole puncher near bartender, then around grand piano earns frequent flier miles of stalactite reads a magazine, or dolphin for steam engine find lice on starlet from razor blade hand behind insurance agent derive perverse satisfaction from living with wedding dress If grizzly bear related to learn a hard lesson from oil filter around, then toward cloud formation hibernates. clockwise insulin patient activate snifter binghamton ocarina." F*ck me! Clear as mud then! Bit like that ‘Town Plan’ thing really...

My journey started at the Albert Mill, on the River Chew. As I walked along the banks of this small, nature-infested waterway, I could not help but remember when, as a young man, I worked at one of the many small, evenly-spaced docks, onto which the local fisherman would unload from their boats their catch of fish from the Chew. The fish would be stacked onto small electric carts, which ran on metal tracks to a small building near the Avon river. Here, the locally-caught fish would be manufactured into brass, thus giving the wonderful building it's name, Brass Mills.

REVENGE IS CHEAP TIME TO get your own back folks! Under the latest crazy scheme rolled out by BANES, we can all now hire a bloody powered scooter and give those who’ve been causing havoc on our High Street a run for their money. For the price of 4.285 Double Deckers (if average price equals 35p), you can hire a scooter for two hours and run amok at mind blowing high speeds on the pavement up and down our Suntan Strip. Well I’m keen to give up the price of a morning’s DD's to hassle a few grannies on a Monday morn! To book your 12-volt battering ram (© Anna Cacia-Court), contact Shopmobility on 01225 481744.

Before the countryside clashed with civilisation, I took a turn up a rather steep hill. As I climbed this hill I couldn't help but remember how, as a teenager, I skied down these very slopes in the National Winter E-limpics, whilst representing our wonderful town in the downhill slalom. After winning silver in my class, I retired from the sport due to an unfortunate knee injury. A few years later at the end of the ice age, the games were moved and this closed a very rewarding chapter of my sporting life.

When I reached the brow of the hill I climbed a 5 bar gate onto what is known to me as The Roman Road ©. As I walked along this worn cobbled surface I remembered being a young boy standing on the edge of this road when the Romans came marching into our tiny town. First came many, many horses, draped in colourful cloth, edged with gold and fine stones.

AN ANSWER YES, I throw a sickie on the odd occasion, Mr Mills...

Sat high upon these steeds rode the heads of the Roman army, dressed in glittering helmets with exotic feathers and shiny boots. Behind them came hundreds, maybe more, marching centurions in military style lines. Their marching was very reminiscent of a site I witnessed a few years later when the Nazis came to town, along the very same road. B@stards!

It was this very road that took me home from my walk, via the Trout for a flagon of finest apple-flavoured ale, naturally. And thus my annual exercise session was over, as were our hopes of Euro footie glory. So, what did you do when England were getting knocked out the football, AGAIN? Cheers, catch you next time. Charlton Bottom

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