“Can I help you?” asked the owner of the caravan park as we wandered over to the stone near the entrance. “Do you mind if I take a picture of that?” asked I. “Aha, you’re here to see the druid stone.” “Yes.” “There’s quite a few of them hereabouts.” “There is.” It’s at times like these that I’m glad my mate Thomas is with me, much better at talk of druids and suchlike than I. The stone, a large slab 1.8 metres tall and 1.5 metres wide (at it widest) is now being swallowed up by clematis and other garden plants. It’s not a bad garden feature – who wouldn’t like to have one – but I kept thoughts of breathing space and all the rest of it to myself.
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