So, the bus was a 45 minute wait and I walked the High Street until I spotted a chippie (was really hungry and thought a piece of cod would hit the spot) behind the Cross Keys Hotel. I drenched the fish in vinegar and downed it as quickly as the searing heat allowed then went into the Keys for another IPA.
The bar and restaurant have low ceilings with great timbers and loads of dark snugs to settle into to. It is a proper modern hotel, but the ground floor resembles nothing so much as an 17th or 18th century inn. I dispatched the beer quickly because I wanted to get a newspaper for the long rides back to Ely but I noticed a familiar bit of poetry/religion on a board propped in the old fireplace: