The Devil’s Den

My alarm goes off at seven, breaking the holiday run of lie-ins. Angus is already up. We’re on the road by eight - Bristol bound, on an empty M4. The sky is clear, and the sun slants into my eyes as I weave from the M5 towards Bristol airport.

Leaving Angus to catch his flight to Glasgow, I head back to Bedwyn through Bristol itself. By the time I’m back on the M4 the traffic has seriously increased, so I’m glad to get off at Hungerford.

Our trip to visit Fabian and family in Bournemouth is cancelled. They have the lurgy, so we’re grounded. So, I make plans for afternoon outings today and tomorrow.

After lunch, I head to Avebury to meet Adam, Nicky and offspring. There are two car parks and, naturally, I park in the other one. I join the flow of humanity and walk into the village, finding the Hollis’s waiting outside the shop.

They take me on one of their family routes, through the valley of the stones. It’s a lovely route, along rutted, white chalk tracks, across the Ridgeway, across a gallop (look both ways before crossing), and down into a shallow valley. We don’t seen a soul.

Holly has recently discovered a detour that gets us to a lone trilithon that’s called the Devil’s Den.

At its base there’s a strange offering of eggs, chicken meat, and pink feed granules (extra). On top of the meat are several small pebbles. Is this something to do with the solstice? Is it illegal bait to poison birds of prey? What should we do?

In the end we leave it untouched. Retracing our steps through the fading light (extra), we get back to the cars as darkness envelopes the countryside. And so, back home.