I left Clint in the car park of the village hall in Blyton - which is undoubtedly the origin of the surname Blyton as in Enid Blyton - one of Britain's best known children's writers.
It was a beautiful day as I set off - hardly a cloud in the sky - and for mid-December the temperature was pretty mild. No need for the big coat, gloves or a woolly hat.
I was heading north west for the tiny riverside village of Wildsworth. Across from Wildsworth is another small village called Gunthorpe which is where my wife was born and spent the first sixteen years of her life. Her father, Charlie, was an arable farmer there and was also born in Gunthorpe. Sadly now there are no living family connections to the place - just memories.
I nipped into Blyton's village shop and treated myself to a "Snickers" bar after renewing my "Lotto" ticket. Just think - if I won the jackpot I would not have to walk anywhere again. I could pay people to do the walking for me and Clint would be traded in for a banana-coloured Lamborghini called Gina Lollobrigida. What merry japes Gina and I would have.