So, it was off to Yelvertoft for Sunday’s walk led by the ever-reliable John Broadhead. This turned out to be a cracking route of about 7.5 miles — mercifully light on stiles and hills, so knees and puff were spared.

Yelvertoft lay about 14 miles from Fleckney, so passengers chipped in £2.80 to their driver — a small price for chauffeured countryside bliss.

We parked near the Knightly Arms on High Street (///august.states.hypnotist), a pub so charming and welcoming it practically wagged its tail when we returned.

We began by heading down High Street, away from the pub (with promises to return), and turned left onto Wards Lane. The road soon gave up and became a footpath, as if to say, “You’re on your own now.” We crossed several fields and tackled three stiles — none of which bit — before popping out onto Yelvertoft Road. A right turn took us over a bridge and across the Grand Union Canal, where ducks eyed us with suspicion, and into the hamlet of Elkington.

At the triangle in the road, we took the right fork and passed Manor Farm, resisting the urge to moo back at the cows. The track climbed gently to the highest point of the walk — not Everest, but enough to feel smug. It dipped, rose again, then flattened out like a pancake for the rest of the journey.

After the second peak, we turned right onto the Jurassic Way. Less than half a mile later, we joined a road and chose our route through Winwick — a shrunken medieval village with more history than houses. Mentioned in the 1086 Domesday Book and once held by the Abbey of Coventry, Winwick was the Gretna Green of Northamptonshire, where runaway couples could marry without the usual faff. Having covered about 5.5 miles, we declared the war memorial a fine spot for coffee, lunch, and tales of elopement.

Church Lane came next, guiding us past the delightful St. Michael and All Saints Church and the old Manor House. Then it was back onto a footpath, flat as a pancake and canal-adjacent, leading to an unnamed road and then the canal itself.

The penultimate leg followed the canal towpath, duck-dodging and bridge-hopping under Yelvertoft Road three times (yes, three). Finally, we reached Crick Bridle Road, left the canal behind, and sauntered into Yelvertoft for a well-earned sit-down and refreshment at the Knightly Arms — where the chairs were soft, the drinks were cold, and the stories flowed freely.