Posts in Journey
Mapledurham Mill, Reading

'Are you the writer? You look like a writer.'
The miller was a big guy, solid and broad, with a dusty workboots and shoulders that seemed made to heft sacks of flour.  
'Yep,' I said. 'That's me.'
He grinned and introduced himself as Corry, then unlocked and swung open a set of large gates. Beyond them the Thames languidly flowed, its surface calm and greenish, brushed by willows. A creamy-pink building crouched on the bank- Mapledurham Mill, a 17th century water mill and the last working grist mill on the River Thames.

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