There were no murders in Cropredy last night. Not that I know of anyway, although it leaves us slightly surprised because Cropredy has something of the air of Midsomer about it. The stone cottages round the old churchyard with its strangely leaning yew tree seem oddly familiar. This morning I half expected to be awoken by John Nettles tapping on the window asking me to assist him with his enquiries while his wife waits on the canal bridge in a posh frock anxiously looking at her watch in case they are late for the vicarage garden party.
Maybe it was one of the blokes hanging round the bar in the Red Lion last night, admiring the charms of the shapely barmaid. Plenty of cause for jealousy there. (Incidentally the beer and the reasonably priced home made steak pie were excellent). Or maybe it was the little group of villagers sitting round the table in the house holding a sale of books in aid of the Samaritans. I bet they know some dark secrets. The books were donated in the will of a recently deceased village lady. Hmmm.
Cropredy is very charming, very quiet and the people are very pleasant. I like it. Just right for a bit of intrigue I reckon. (By the way, you can buy windlasses in the post office.)
Just down the canal we saw these suspicious looking characters. What do you think?