Market Harborough to Tilton

So far in this journey I have been doing well to keep roughly to my original planned route, and find accommodation along the way. Here, I unfortunately was presented with a dilemma. The route I mapped a year ago mostly follows way-marked tracks and minor roads, passing through smaller villages where I hoped to find food and shelter. But from Market Harborough I was unable to find any accommodation along my planned path - no Airbnbs, no hostels, no campgrounds even. I contemplated walking in to Leicester instead, but it would involve mainly hiking along busy roads, something I have decided I'm not fond of.
With that in mind I took a rest day in Market Harborough to recover my feet and give me time to plan. Not wanting to go into the city, I opted instead for a less definite approach - I would walk to Tugby, have a rest and hopefully a good meal in the local pub, and then continue along checking for possible places to camp.
This seemed like it might work and I got to Tugby fairly early in the afternoon, despite a brief shower of hail (!), but came unstuck when I found The Fox and Hounds was closed for refurbishment. Instead I found to my relief that the church was open, though uninhabited, and they even had tea and coffee set up for visitors. I spent a couple of hours in the church, replenishing my energy, and gathering courage to go on with the next stage.
This next stage was to find somewhere to stay and that would require door knocking to request permission from land-owners. Tempting though it might be to pitch up in a secluded spot, I would prefer not to camp illegally. The first place I asked seemed very surprised to have someone at the door, and firm in their denial of my request. They did suggest a possible site at the next town (and helpfully informed me that it might not be a good night for tenting), but as I headed across the hill I checked online and found the place to be a Girl Guide camp, not open to public bookings. I got very wet feet tramping through the fields, and contemplated seriously hiding in the woods, but determined to go on to Tilton-on-the-Hill anyway, possibly to sleep in the awning of the church there.
As I arrived at the edges of the village the track passed close by another farmhouse. With little hope I approached to ask here if they would mind a camper. I was a little choked up and had to repeat myself several times to the man who answered the door, but once he understood me he beamed, crooked teeth and all, and happily gave me permission.
So here I am, back in my cosy little tent, thanking strangers for their acceptance.