And so to Chesterblade in the Mendip Hills for lunch with our friends, Sara Butler (a poet), Bob (a potter) and Tess (a Parson Russell terrier).
Look, a church. But first a walk up the narrow lanes to the local iron age hill fort, Small Down Camp.
Though not before a pause at the nearby dew pond, across which a brisk wind was flitting.
As soon as we got up onto the top of the hill, we realised that the wind was more than brisk. In fact, it had put its teeth in, and they were bloody great fangs. It was wolfish.
The hill fort is impressive but quite small, so it doesn't take too long to beat the bounds.
We headed for the trig point.
Chesterblade and beyond from the trig point
View over to Glastonbury Tor, eight miles away
Looking over towards Bath
After a while, it looked as if it might rain so we decided to return to the village.
It was much more sheltered down in the lane.
My first primroses of the year
Looking back at the hill fort, we saw it had taken on the appearance of a great ship.
While Bob and Tess popped into the cottage to put the dinner on, Sara, the Northerner and I wandered over the road to the tiny Church of St Mary the Virgin (which is actually a Norman chapel) to have a bit of a fossick.
The etymology of the placename Chesterblade is interesting. Obviously, the Chester- bit comes from castra, which is Latin for camp or stronghold. The -blade has all sorts of suppositions attached to it. The one I favour is that it's from Bladji, meaning 'of the wolf'.
The bellcote
And here he is in the South Nave doorway.
And here beneath the North-East Nave coping. Look at this magnificence! Chesterblade is definitely the Stronghold of the Wolf!
I thought this might be the fate of Robb Stark in reverse: a (dire)wolf with a human head, but apparently it's the Lamb of God, this carved on the South-East Nave coping. Hmmm.
There's also a rather desolate Virgin Mary above the South Nave door ...
... and this face that looks like a bad doodle.
Inside, the Church is compact and bijou ...
... and a bit dusty or ghostly, depending on your point of view.
The font is Norman.
The panelling is Jacobean.
The yew tree looks like a menorah.
And lunch was delicious, and the road home happy.
It was an unpromising day so we went down to the Severn, because if anywhere can make a dull sky interesting, it's the winds and currents of that river.
Well, hopefully.
We parked at Cake Pill Gout, which more or less marks the boundaries of Aust Warth to the north and Northwick Warth to the south. Strange name for a little stream. I wonder if the first part is to do with the sticky qualities of the mud.
Larks were singing - my first of the year - and behind us it was beautiful ...
... ahead, towards the new bridge, not so much.
The rain looked mostly like it was On Their Side but anyone who knows the estuary knows how quickly this can change.
This was pretty much a joining up walk, from Cake Pill Gout to Chestle Pill, from the old bridge (more or less) to the new, from Old Passage to New Passage.
At first, I thought these two white blobs might be the pair of egrets I'd seen up on Littleton Warth the other week, but closer study revealed them to be swans.
Chestle Pill, advancing through the trees
A bit murker today than the last time I was here, in September 2015.
It was still beautiful, though, and I really like Chestle Pill at low tide, the way it snakes through the mud. I like the thought that it's still there when covered by the tide.
We were now at New Passage. The ferry crossing is believed to have been in operation from 1630, with a hiatus between 1645 and 1718. There's a tale that during the Civil
Wars, King Charles was chased across the river from Portskewett on the opposite bank.
The pursuing
Roundheads were drowned after being landed at low tide on the English Stones, in the middle of the river, by
the boatmen, after which Cromwell ordered the ferries to cease operation.
The new bridge is now built over the Stones, which act as a foundation.
New Passage's other claim to fame - possibly slightly less glamorous than Old Passage's Bob Dylan-related one - is that John and Charles Wesley journeyed to Wales and Ireland during the 18th century from this point.
Apparently, Charles had narrow escape in 1743 when the boat he was on almost foundered during a storm.
Lo! He comes with clouds descending
The sky seemed to be suggesting it was time to be getting back.
This is Pilning Wetland, which was created in 2011, when the old military firing range was converted into the freshwater pools. They're very popular with visiting birds and binocular-toting birders.
The rain was approaching.
We hurried. I slipped and landed on my arse in the mud. (Admittedly a more comfortable landing than the marble grave slab hidden in snow last month.)
Chinook
Cake Pill Gout
I'm not good at winter, especially the bit between Christmas and the end of February, when it can be hard to tell whether the days are getting longer, but the light on the Severn always makes things brighter.
Inside, the Church is compact and bijou ... 
