...... and so we leave behind Burnley, the town where they'd stick the pipe if the world had to have an enema, and start a new life in the country at Foxholes in the Yorkshire Wolds.
It's a quiet village and the people have, so far, been very friendly. They haven't suddenly started to speak Welsh or anything when you walk into the pub.
Mainly because it's not in Wales but also because there isn't a pub.
Or a post office.
Or a shop of any description, except one that sells tractors and farming machinery.
Not much good if you suddenly run out of milk, but dead handy if you need to plough a few hundred acres.
The local church is St. Marys and it appears to be disused now which is a shame. It looks like a lovely building, although the Pevsner Guide from years ago describes it as the ugliest church in the whole of North Yorkshire.
Which is a bit harsh I think.
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