On route to the little village of Dunsfold, we stop for a drink at a promising looking fountain, but find it has been allowed to run dry.

the refreshment of wayfarers is alas no longer a national priority

We ponder awhile about starting a campaign to reinstate the free waters of Britain, before realizing that we have plenty going on anyway. So we save that idea for another day, or another inspired person (you?).

We spot an organic farm shop nearby, and sing a quick song for the lady there, who throws us a handful of veg in exchange.

The organic farm shop are willing to trade

Then along we stamp, and into the village of Dunsfold. Will’s mum is driving West this very evening, and has a rranged to meet us somewhere, so we decide the village pub is as good a place as any.

We sing a few songs, and then suddenly a man rushes in, saying “Your chimney’s on fire!” No-one seems to blink, and all drink on steadily. The landlord curses and grumbles, pops outside, then resignedly telephones the local brigade, who duly pop along in full regalia.

The local firemen quash the flames

The do their counter-incendiary magic, and we carry on singing.

Doorman Will ushers in the fire-stoppers

Will’s ma arrives, buys us a plate of food each, and as we sing a couple more songs, and enjoy the donated ale, she rushes around to the locals saying “That’s mys on – and i’ve brought him clean underwear.”

It’s all pretty rock and roll.

Will, Ed and Ginger drink merrily while the pub burns

The pub then let us kip in their garden, which seems the easiest and best option, and we sleep good and heavy. At 3 in the morning we are awoken by the landlady’s daughter, who has driven from Canterbury, and has been locked out. “Mum! Mum! Wake up and let me in!” she cries. Village nightlife is always a thrill…