Thank goodness for Innis.

Yesterday we took advantage of a brief break in the grey wetness to do a little walk around Stroud. Sheelagh had found a pamphlet with instructions and when the sun appeared we pulled on our walking boots and left.
After crossing the town, we picked up the beginning of the walk and started up, it is always up. The sun was shining, things were going well. We crossed fields, went down lanes, passed lovely old stone houses and walls, then we hit the Mount Pleasant Cemetery. Round and round three times before a kind local showed us the gate that we were to, "easily find". Sheelagh had already given up hope, and picked out her burial site among the ancient head stones.
We now passed through a beautiful wooded area and climbed a rather steep field. Then the wheels fell off. At Wasa Wasa Farm the signs deserted us completely, and we were left wandering in the wind and rain. Innis appeared. A scrawny 9 year old who was out getting fit on a road in the middle of nowhere. He appeared shadow boxing an unseen opponent. Innis didn't know any of the places on our map, but he knew that if we went past his house, and went down until it didn't go down any more, we would be on London Road. That was good enough for us. We walked with Innis for about a kilometre, during which he regaled us with his skill at cricket, his scorn of American football where they wear, CRASH HELMETS! and stories of his chicken Charlie whom we met as we parted at Innis's house.
We made it home following the directions we had received, "keep going down". We only walked about 2 1/2 miles further than we should have. I wish that I had taken a picture of Innis, but I didn't. Again we learned that we can always rely on the kindness of stangers.