Bumbling among the wolds
Our first stop in the Cotswolds was at Blenheim Palace, where I got some great interior decorating ideas for my own little shack-in-the-sky, and we all learned lots about Winston Churchill. After seeing where he basically grew up, and hearing about his ancestor the nth Duke of Marlborough who also basically saved Europe in the Battle of Blenheim, you kinda got the feeling that the man with the cigar's "sense of destiny" wasn't that arbitrary after all. I'd be pretty sure that I was destined for great things too if I got to spend my summers in a house the size of a Fairmont hotel, with a yard the size of Bermuda, complete with massive phallic monument to my Europe-saving ancestor erected by a grateful Queen Anne.
Just like that, however, I became not only a Churchill fanatic - am searching for a good biography on him now (it's possible there may be one or two on my Crisis Decision Making reading list, but I haven't looked at that lately) - but also a Royals fanatic. Apparently Prince William is only the second Royal to ever go to a university. Or wait, perhaps he was the first royal to ever go to a university, and some cousin of his who's going to the States this year is the second. Something like that. Either way, Prince William's chances with me are looking up (first in his family to go to college shows some dedication and strength of character, both attributes which I find most commendable). The HSBC connections are supposed to be on the case for me - first chance to sing my praises when bumping into young Will at the water cooler and they will do so.
But a watched pot never boils, so on with our story. We left Blenheim to bumble along the country roads to the Rollright Stones. The Rollright Stones are to Stonehenge as the Cotswolds are to the Andes - just little fellas, but no less intriguing. In fact, once we realised we could borrow Dowsing Rods and check out the wild energy all around the stones themselves, they turned positively fascinating. What kind of energy were the rods measuring? How were they spinning all around like that? What would a Ouija board do in here? What did it all mean? Wouldn't Granny have freaked out if she could've seen them?
A little more bumbling, some rest and relaxation in the "dollhouse" - as their cottage was affectionately nicknamed - and we found ourselves having dinner in a restaurant called 947 A.D. It's called 947 A.D. because that's what date the inn itself was built. Yes, 947 A.D. As in well over a thousand years ago. Oh, and it's been an inn ever since then. It blew my mind. The dinner itself was in the Dinner Club league, as was the conversation. Afterwards we took a pedestrian bumble all around the silent town - completely deserted at just ten p.m. thanks to the gypsys.
Oh yes. The gypsys. Los gitanos. Sorry, apparently we're supposed to call them "the travellers" now. Having just completed "Los cinco en la caravana" a few short weeks earlier I was thrilled to see the few quaint horse-drawn caravans painted green and gold and scattered in about the modern RVs and campers piled onto the field at the bottom of the town. Word on the street is, there's some 13th century charter which allows the travellers to descend on the town every year to hold a horse fair and trade horses. It seemed sketchy to me as so many were travelling by motor van these days and apparently not in need of horses, but there you have it. The villagers, on the other hand, were not as charmed as me - to put it lightly. I'm expecting an out and out revolt within the next 3-5 years.
The next day, after sleeping in to an alarming hour, was spent exploring more of the village - including the infamous sheep runs/alleyways where the sheep would be forced to go one at a time, making them easier to count - and bumbling happily around the countryside in the car. We visited The Yellow Hat Tribe - my new favourite works of art. There we also saw ostriches from the ostrich farm (the relatives claim there are camels and llamas on the Cotswolds too, which must be quite the sight). We also clambered up to the Broadway tower, which was built especially so that the Earl of something-or-other could see it from his home 20 miles away. The things they did in the days before TV.
Standing on top of that hill, the highest of the wolds, looking at the English countryside spreading out before us in a slightly mystical, spooky haze, with the sharp smell of fresh earth in your nose and a bracing, cold breeze blowing through you, you could see two Englands: the dear little country England of villagers walking the commons, picking blackberries and picnicking with their thermoses of tea; and the ancient, wild England of the pagan Celtic days, with the mists of Avalon parting before you and wild calls and fire on the wind. For a second even London seemed young.
And so we bumbled on back towards Oxford. Can't stay in the Cotswolds drinking Argentine Syrrahs forever, you know. Some of us have a Master's to do here.
Just like that, however, I became not only a Churchill fanatic - am searching for a good biography on him now (it's possible there may be one or two on my Crisis Decision Making reading list, but I haven't looked at that lately) - but also a Royals fanatic. Apparently Prince William is only the second Royal to ever go to a university. Or wait, perhaps he was the first royal to ever go to a university, and some cousin of his who's going to the States this year is the second. Something like that. Either way, Prince William's chances with me are looking up (first in his family to go to college shows some dedication and strength of character, both attributes which I find most commendable). The HSBC connections are supposed to be on the case for me - first chance to sing my praises when bumping into young Will at the water cooler and they will do so.
But a watched pot never boils, so on with our story. We left Blenheim to bumble along the country roads to the Rollright Stones. The Rollright Stones are to Stonehenge as the Cotswolds are to the Andes - just little fellas, but no less intriguing. In fact, once we realised we could borrow Dowsing Rods and check out the wild energy all around the stones themselves, they turned positively fascinating. What kind of energy were the rods measuring? How were they spinning all around like that? What would a Ouija board do in here? What did it all mean? Wouldn't Granny have freaked out if she could've seen them?
A little more bumbling, some rest and relaxation in the "dollhouse" - as their cottage was affectionately nicknamed - and we found ourselves having dinner in a restaurant called 947 A.D. It's called 947 A.D. because that's what date the inn itself was built. Yes, 947 A.D. As in well over a thousand years ago. Oh, and it's been an inn ever since then. It blew my mind. The dinner itself was in the Dinner Club league, as was the conversation. Afterwards we took a pedestrian bumble all around the silent town - completely deserted at just ten p.m. thanks to the gypsys.
Oh yes. The gypsys. Los gitanos. Sorry, apparently we're supposed to call them "the travellers" now. Having just completed "Los cinco en la caravana" a few short weeks earlier I was thrilled to see the few quaint horse-drawn caravans painted green and gold and scattered in about the modern RVs and campers piled onto the field at the bottom of the town. Word on the street is, there's some 13th century charter which allows the travellers to descend on the town every year to hold a horse fair and trade horses. It seemed sketchy to me as so many were travelling by motor van these days and apparently not in need of horses, but there you have it. The villagers, on the other hand, were not as charmed as me - to put it lightly. I'm expecting an out and out revolt within the next 3-5 years.
The next day, after sleeping in to an alarming hour, was spent exploring more of the village - including the infamous sheep runs/alleyways where the sheep would be forced to go one at a time, making them easier to count - and bumbling happily around the countryside in the car. We visited The Yellow Hat Tribe - my new favourite works of art. There we also saw ostriches from the ostrich farm (the relatives claim there are camels and llamas on the Cotswolds too, which must be quite the sight). We also clambered up to the Broadway tower, which was built especially so that the Earl of something-or-other could see it from his home 20 miles away. The things they did in the days before TV.
Standing on top of that hill, the highest of the wolds, looking at the English countryside spreading out before us in a slightly mystical, spooky haze, with the sharp smell of fresh earth in your nose and a bracing, cold breeze blowing through you, you could see two Englands: the dear little country England of villagers walking the commons, picking blackberries and picnicking with their thermoses of tea; and the ancient, wild England of the pagan Celtic days, with the mists of Avalon parting before you and wild calls and fire on the wind. For a second even London seemed young.
And so we bumbled on back towards Oxford. Can't stay in the Cotswolds drinking Argentine Syrrahs forever, you know. Some of us have a Master's to do here.
posted by SarahT at 9:29 pm
3 Comments:
Who are those people leaving comments about "make money now" - a bit of a pain in the butt!!! Loved this latest, yes, we do have a bio on Winston Churchill, plus his diaries of the war years!!! Cal Smith had the nerve to quote him in yesterday's comment (oh, pleeaase!!!) I'm counting the days - and yes you do have a Master's to get through! Your everloving, biggest fan!
Two Humps for the Cotswolds' Camels!!!!
haha - i know - i even told aunty/uncle about two humps - as if there are camels in england!
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