As he sat on his upturned rucksack , Peter took in the sights of the Village High Street , mentally checking over which ones would be the most valuable for him to investigate .

There was , of course the pub , a must for Peter as , on his various forays around the cities but in particular in the country , he had been carefully sampling all the different brews he could find . It was his habit to walk into a pub and ask for half a mild , half a bitter , and if there was one special beer on offer , half of the brewery's best. He still remembered with great pleasure a Five X that he had consumed in Devizes, a rich dark brew that went very close to the best he had tasted .

But that was perhaps a secondary consideration , because , if he was going to stay for a time , he would be seeking a place to stay temporarily till he found a more homey accommodation. Perhaps , he thought , there might be an advertisement in one of the shop windows , or the Post Office , something to check out , or he might even hear of something while talking to some of the drinkers in the pub .

He stood up and stretched , flexing some of the stiff muscles that he had acquired sleeping in the woods. Perhaps it would be a good time to wander along the street , checking the windows .

He donned his rucksack , started over the road towards the line of shops , and then , when he had almost reached the one called The Wishing Well Cafe , he paused , hearing a sound that denoted the first sign of life .

It was the familiar rattle of milk bottles in a milk float , which at that very moment was turning into the street and moving down the road .

Fumbling in his pocket to check for change , Peter decided that he would stop the old man driving the float , and buy himself a bottle of milk that could go with the few biscuits that he had in his rucksack , quenching his thirst and at the same time providing a reasonable start to a breakfast .

The float soon drew level with him , and Peter signalled it to stop.