THE village bus stop was the last place I expected to meet John and Nancy Eckersley. They are on a five months-plus walk from Land’s End to John O’Groats and were decked out in all the gear associated with such endeavours.

Our village is not on the accepted 868-mile route – the one usually chosen by the great and the good when embarking on high-profile fundraising that calls for a stout heart and sound walking boots.

Recently retired vicar Nancy was one of the first women to be ordained when the Church of England dropped its opposition to female clergy, serving for the past 11 years as Vicar of Heslington, in York. She said they had made a break to meet people they wanted to see and were now heading back to Banbury to take up where they had left off.

They had started from Land’s End on All Fools’ Day (I resisted making the obvious comment) and were not yet half-way to their northern destination; that milestone would be reached when they arrived at Flambrough Head on the East Yorkshire coast.

When would that be? I didn’t bother to ask, assuming the MD in the sky would determine that and, meanwhile, they were as much in the dark as I was. However, they told me their journey would be 1,280 miles long.

Adjusting his wife’s tabard which, like his, displayed the object of the walk, John, who taught geography until his retirement nine years ago, explained they were hoping to raise £10,000 for a Christian Aid project in Sierra Leone. This would help to pay for work that would provide fresh water to the area. If they could achieve that sum, the European Commission would pitch in another £35,000, so meeting as many people as possible made a lot of sense.

* “I RECKON that place attracts people who think they are storks.” The declaration came from Findlay, former unreliable postman (self-confessed), and now a self-appointed sage, as we walked past the Kukui night spot in Park End Street.

What evidence had drawn him to that conclusion, I asked.

“Look at the walls on either side of the door,” he said.

They were painted a dull orange, but there were black scuff marks along their length where the soles of party goers’ shoes had scraped from average knee height.

“They must stand on one leg to achieve that result,” he said. “I bet the odd job man has to get out the paint brush every week to cover that lot.”

* THE T-shirt displayed its message bright and clear to all who would read it in a busy Cornmarket Street: ‘Drink sensibly’ was its advice - only to be undermined by a follow-up message in smaller type: ‘Don’t spill it’.