We picked blackberries and (rather high) wild plums as we went.
We saw an enormous number of butterflies (and we had the Butterfly Book with us!).
We stopped to eat lunch in a shady woodland, sitting on some abandoned wine press stones.
But it was hot.
And getting hotter.
We had rationed our water carefully and had a full bottle left for the last part of the walk, but it was a case of sipping the lukewarm stuff sparingly...
when suddenly Son 2 yelled: "TAP!"
We got the dog to the water first (even though she'd been the one paddling in a stream not long before) and then we drank our fill. Then we soaked our hats and splashed our hands and faces. Then we refilled the bottles and drank again! Then we splashed again!
"This is magical!" exclaimed Son 2, with the icy water running off his arms and a huge grin on his face.
I knew what he meant, and I realised with new respect why springs and fountains have always been seen as holy or magical. The chilled water on top of a hill on a baking dry day felt like a gift from God - and earlier people must have felt the same way, as this was just across the road from the tap: