THERE’S something softly haunting and achingly romantic about an old horse and cart making its way around the houses.

The clatter of the wooden wheels on the pavement, the clip clop of hooves on the cobbles, and the bump and grind of the ride has an old-worldly charm that a sleek four-by-four roaring through the polluted puddles of the modern world fails to match.

But alas, in the good old days there was also the piles of manure, the dire lack of sufficient sanitation, a woeful shortage of antibiotics, and no Netflix. Progress is indeed a comfortable disease.

In the mind’s eye, even when freed from the sweet bondage of an opium-induced dream, the horse and cart is eternally roaming the streets in the early hours, far removed from the hustle and bustle of the working day.

The rider sits solitary and apart from the rest of the world in the lonely dawn. Doing daring deeds in the dark just so a daydream nation could wake up with milk in their bottle and bread in their bin.

Anyhow, back to basics, as Greta Thunberg once said before embarking on her double atlantic crossing in a big yacht.

The pictures jostling for attention this week, like pushy Facebook types, feature the Co-op milk float doing its rounds of Baker Street in the early 1940s.

Just check out the dandy in his chariot. Like a suited and booted Spartacus he certainly cuts a dashing figure as he prowls the borough in dutiful service of housewives everywhere. Is that a mischievous glint we see in your eye sir?

And then in the other pic we have the proud and noble beast pulling the Redwood’s Bakery delivery van way back when. It’s carbon neutral all the way folks!

The eagle-eyed amongst you will notice that the horse and cart has stopped outside the Hen and Chicks. But has the driver popped in for a crafty pint or was he delivering some bread to soak up the beer in one of Abergavenny’s most historic and well-loved watering holes.

Who knows! As with everything in life, it’s horses for courses.

Now giddy-up cowboys and cowgirls, somewhere there’s a trail to blaze.

If you’ve got a blast from the past or something sage from a forgotten age then get in touch with Tim Butters at 01873 852187 or [email protected].