Ah, well, back to that great day, starting out with a good porridge cooked up by my sister (she uses root ginger, giving it a special flavor) and a while catching up with The Buddha Diaries. Then out to the country for a drive and an occasional stroll through a few of the less tourist-trodden Cotswold villages—some of the most beautiful you’ll find anywhere in the world, set in some of the loveliest landscapes...
... green, rolling hills where the sheep are now accompanied by the latest generation of tiny white lambs, peaceful woods with carpets of wildflowers, a calming, even light everywhere under the gray clouds, barely broken, here and there, by a glimpse of the sun. The stone construction—from tiny cottages to vast manor houses, farms and churches—is well known, of course, but nonetheless pleasing for the familiarity.
My intrepid sister did the driving, I the navigation, while Ellie sat in the back with our grand-nephew Hugo, nearly twelve and brilliant, an aspiring actor who already attends a celebrated school for the performing arts in London and is home on Easter break. He was not as impressed with the beauty of the Cotswold villages as we—perhaps because he lives in the middle of it all—but managed to brave the trip nobly. At one stop, the village of Elkstone, we ran into a charming, garrulous recent resident with a house in the shadow of the little church who had become passionate for her new environment and wanted to share her knowledge about everything from her own house, to her neighbors, to the church...
...and its history (without her we would have missed the narrow stairway leading up to the hidden priest’s hole); and even insisted on walking us down, past the village, to a wonderful green valley we would also otherwise have missed.
At our new friend’s recommendation, we found a nearby pub, the Five Mille House, for a good lunch and a whole lot of local atmosphere—both appreciated; and shortly after headed off to a point of interest I had noted on the map, Misardon Gardens, where we paused again for a good long stroll. The gardens were not yet, obviously, in full bloom, but they were full of promise, budding both with leaf and bloom—and extensive. I enjoyed especially the planned contrast between the carefully landscaped central sweep and the wilder, woodsy area off to one side.
A particularly lovely manor house, Tudor, I assume...
....lay at the far end of it all, with a gracious English lawn stretching far and wide in front of it and, to one side, an unusual, low-lying geometric water treatment in lichened Cotswold stone.
Home, then, in time for a later afternoon nap and the seven o’clock BBC news (the G-20 conference and its outcomes, quite encouraging) and off to dinner with friends of Flora’s in a nearby village. We found much in common. Fiona is the artistic director of a public gallery space in Cirencester and her husband, Piers, a science writer of note who’s central interest touches closely on the relationship between science and art. I was particularly fascinated by his huge and beautifully illustrated tome, “Invisible Worlds,” which explores the phenomenon of what is unseen to the human eye but revealed to us by new technologies. Fiona’s young son and daughter, both obviously creatively talented, were a delight to meet over dinner. Alma, the older of the two, is at art college in Nottingham, and brought out her I-Book to show me her latest project, in which she photographs staged scenes from Balthus paintings. An interesting idea, and beautifully executed.
Back home to Flora’s house much later than anticipated, and the kind of sleep that I described above—and hope not to repeat tonight.
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