getting lost over the river

A walk yesterday ended up in someone`s garden. A forgivable gaff, considering the house looked very much like a pub, while said garden was equipped with a flag pole (plus flag), and several of those wooden all-in-one picnic table-bench doobries. There was a large, complicated play fort, for the children to climb in, up, out of and down from, while their parents imbibed real ale in a perfect riverside setting. There was a wooden gate from the footpath into the garden, and people in the garden having fun with their offspring. Upon entry, I asked chirpily, is this the pub? - a mere formality as it so obviously was. But no, I was very politley informed that it wasnt. The pub was further along the footpath at the head of the creek. When we got there it was shut.

In all fairness, the owners of the pub garden themed garden did let us through their grounds, to get us promptly back to the public lane again. Once in the lane, pausing to consider which seemed the most likely route back to the car, we were accosted by a smart woman with an asthmatic pooch, who was extremely concerned to make sure we were on the right path out of the village.

This beautiful hamlet with it`s sheltered watery inlet has a very attractive old village pump, and an alluring footpath to who knows where, which is announced by way of a large plaque saying no-one is allowed to use it, unless they`re from the village. I also spotted a jokey sign post pointing to England, attached to the wall of a neat little cottage. What is the phrase again? O yes, `picture postcard`.