So, as well-meaning middle-class folk do, we went around the corner to Silbury Hill ("this car park is for visiting Silbury Hill ONLY!") and (after inspecting the Hill, of course - we couldn't break the rules entirely) wandered along the public footpath for a mile to ... Avebury. It doesn't really make much sense to compare it to Stonehenge: objectively, it's more impressive because of its size, but ironically that works against it, as you only appreciate the size from an aerial view. The place was quite busy, though not overcrowded, and there were a fair few of the Great Unwashed Worshippers of the Sun-God present.
In contrast, Wayland's Smithy was quiet, though not deserted. Small but fascinating.
We returned to Reading lightly cooked; additionally I have a lovely heat rash across my shoulders from working in the garden yesterday, and a consequence of opening the windows is that one of the geraniums has gone bungee-jumping already. I'm not particularly looking forward to work next week, but the air conditioning does have its advantages.