Whilst I was having my eyes looked at today, Mick got talking to a woman he vaguely recognised, in the reception area. It turned out she also used to use the same log supplier, D, years ago, up on Coopers Hill, where they do the cheese rolling.
"Wasn't it terrible about D?" she said. Mick didn't know what she meant, but apparently a year or so back the poor man was trampled to death by his own cows He went up the hill to his cowshed one morning, to supervise a calving, and when he didn't come home for his lunch his wife and son went looking for him, and found him dead
A terrible shame, he was a nice man.