The Cross Guns, Avoncliff, near Bradford-on-Avon

This pub perches on a tumbling riverbank, and has a cavalcade of exciting features such as to render overexcitable idiots insensate.

So, firstly, let's start at the bottom. There's a stream running through the lower tier of this hanging pub garden, which leads into the River Avon that runs past in front of you. The pub is at the confluence of all kinds of activity - there's a weir just over down by there, accompanied by a wonderfully creepy, ruined mill. Well, I say mill, but it's more of an overgrown corrugated iron shack on stilts. And what's that, a bridge over to the left.... though it's not just any old bridge - it's a sodding aqueduct, carrying the Kennet & Avon Canal over the River Avon. The logistics involved in creating this hurt my head slightly. The sole excitement to be gleaned from most bridges is to work out whether that sullen figure standing in the middle of it is about to drop a bricky payload onto your windscreen, or whether that van is The Man watching your speed, and waiting to stick an angry letter demanding money in the post. So it's a strange, endearing sight to look up and see the top of a barge sliding its way across the sky.

There are also ducks.

Up a few levels, past trellis tables and smoker-friendly awnings, to the pub itself, a two-roomed, cosy, no-messing country pub affair that promises many piscine treats to the hungry passer-by, to be eaten at dark wood tables with red laminate place mats and all that usual (trad) jazz. At the bar, there's a great selection of ales with silly names, and about three draught ciders, of varying degrees of intensity.

So, plumping for the most intense of the lot, it was with addled glee that we skipped along the canal, over the river, to the Avoncliff railway station - which is, what frilly treats, a request stop. Flagging down a train after a pint of farmyard cider... the giddiness of it all overwhelms me even now.

It's a riverway in mid-air! Sod your quantum physics, how the hell does this work?