Badgers

The week was all about work and dancing and friends coming for dinner (Chris on Friday night and Jane and David on Sunday).  Our culinary skills were in action once again! Our treat was a trip to see badgers in their natural environment on Saturday evening.  We drove down Tiverton way planning to go for a pub meal only to find that in this part of Devon pubs don't really exist and so we settled for a fish and chip meal at Morrisons (supermarket) which was on a par with what you get from a motorway services.  We regretted not taking our normal picnic. We drove down many country lanes to the farm house and parked in a disused concrete pad - surrounded by barns - I suspect this was once a milking pad - but now tall grassy weeds grow through the cracked concrete and the barns were crumbling and disused (all except for the very end which was painted a bright yellow and called the "Visitors centre").  So we were in the right place.  Pity we didn't take the camera but instructions were: no camera, quiet clothes, no talking, no kids, no perfume or aftershave, dark clothes, no talking etc etc.  The badgers were great.  While sitting quietly in the ground level hide we saw them munch through the peanuts left strategically by the window.  They looked at us at times but realised we weren't going to harm them (they did run when they heard me cough - thankfully only twice).  Certainly worth the visit.

Wimbledon

On Saturday we went Womble hunting on Wimbledon Common.  Harry dropped some litter in the hope of a little Womble not being able to resist temptation but by now they are used to those old tricks and Harry had to go back and pick up the tissue after we hid behind a bush for some 15 minutes waiting and hoping...even the thought of seeing Caramello in the grass didn't tempt them (or did it?). It seems the only way to see one is to go to the Glastonbury Music Festival where the Wombles are playing but unfortunately we missed the opportunity to buy a ticket. 


Underground, overground, wombling free 
The Wombles of Wimbledon Common are we 
Making good use of the things that we find 
Things that the everyday folks leave behind..

Instead we wandered down some paths lined with trees and high stinging nettle and found a lake, windmill museum and a traditional fair ground (with all the kiddies rides).   We met Rebecca and Nylan on the way to the tennis stadium - closed but with an air of excitement as plans are well afoot for the start of Wimbledon.  Walking around we saw lots of big houses, no cars parked on the streets (who would park their Audi, Merc, Rolls on the street when they can be displayed behind tall metal gates), and a gorse hedge (yes in Wimbledon!!).  Sunday, turned from cold to colder and wet to wetter and so we drove to Pangbourne where our planned walk along the Thames turned into a mediocre lunch in a pub and a drive back to Bristol via a rainforest park which didn't have much in it except an agouti and some toucans.  The pub was old and has some history...like it sat on the boundary between Berkshire and Oxfordshire and as each shire had different licencing laws the patrons and proprietor moved from one end of the pub to the other to extend their drinking time. Jerome K Jerome also finished his journey in three men in a boat at the pub on the river Thames. This sounds like my type of story, written in 1889 it is all about a travelling holiday of three friends on the Thames between Kingston and Oxford.  It was a serious travel guide (well meant to be), but apparently with the anecdotes along the route is well known for its humour and sentimental stories - will look in some second hand book shops for it...

Burgh Island and Cotehele

Saturday was one of those rare sunny and calm days and so we headed for the beach.  The one that appealed to us was down Portsmouth way - Bigbury on Sea.  Golden sand, rock pools and the tidal island of Burgh - which by low tide is accessible by a very wide strip of sand and by high tide by a sea tractor. We'd seen this island before, many moons ago in an Agatha Christie Poirot tv programme 'Evil under the Sun'.  Art Deco hotel - sitting in the sun on the balcony drinking wine and eating a nice lunch - what more could we ask for? Isn't it funny how expectations so often don't match reality.  The strip of sand and the sea tractor were there but the hotel (incidentally built on the ruins of an old monastery) looked like a monstrosity with more modern buildings planted right beside it.  Not far away was a 14th century old pub which did look more in keeping with the environment.  We marched over the sand (our expectations still quite high), up the hill to find the pub only served 'hotel guests and local regulars' (later we found round the other side a sign that said 'everyone was welcome') and that the hotel wasn't open to people who just wanted to visit for the day rather than pay £190 a night.  We weren't allowed to picnic on the island and had to keep to paths. The hotel looked rather lonely and 'guestless'). We wandered up the hill munching on our french bread (in defiance not because we were hungry), enjoyed seeing the cliffs, a second world war observation post overlooking the clear water, some interesting rock formations (if you are into that sort of thing) and a few birds before settling down on a slip way (on the islands water edge) to eat our noodles, what was left of the bread and bananas.  Then it was back up to the car to change into our togs (a Mr Bean act in the carpark was called for) and back for a nice walk along the river and to the sea for a swim.  Well Harry did go for a dip, if you can call a 5 second up to the shoulders a dip, but I even chickened out of that when my ankles complained of frost bite before the water went above them.  I settled for sitting in the sand making a pool large enough to be a spa bath for the tide to come in and wash away.  Kids watched this rather mad pool building adult and then decided to join in so by the end of the day there were a little row of 'spa' baths along the sand. After settling into the hotel for the night we drove around and found a little pub to have dinner - which would have been really nice if it wasn't for the faint smell of silage and the flies it attracted.

The sunshine lasted but a day and the next day we visited Cotehele in the cloudy, cooler weather with the constant threat of rain.  Cotehele resulted in us spending about 5 hours on our feet, some of it standing while we admired the indoors of the late 1400's tudor house: lots of tapestries (hung to insulate the house - the result very dark); old furniture (some well restored bed canopies); china and armoury;  a chapel clock installed in 1489 - never been moved - no pendulum and faceless so the only way to tell the time was listen for the chimes. The rest of the day was skipping with our umbrellas in an orchard and cottage garden, down the valley to the river Tamar, along the river to the little cafe, looking at the Shamrock (restored boat that used to carry goods up and down the river) and then up another valley to the mill (provides some hydro power to the national grid when there is enough water in the creek) and then back up the hill back to the car. Cotehele was the first house to be donated to the national trust to avoid death duties and set a precedent for many of the existing national trust estate.

Up Rugby way

Last week Harry was late home (fixing the car for its warrant) and after cooking another luscious soup I had some time to get on to the web and sort out some activities for the weekend.  It was a long weekend and so we had 3 days to enjoy ourselves.  First stop was the Prescott Hill races where I did lots of people watching and Harry did the car watching thing and when it wasn't raining we enjoyed sitting or sleeping in the sun. We ate our soup with french bread and felt quite in keeping with the french them of the day described as a "celebration of French voiture design from veteran to the Veyron". There were men walking around yelling and giving away onions, some mimers, security guards dressed in gendarme gear and others in can can dresses. During lunch we watched 3 little boys play - they obviously knew each other - but we were fascinated how their personalities were so evident event at the age of about 3.  One the energetic and mischievous leader, another the follower and a quiet little boy who earnestly told the others not to eat with their mouth full. Back to cars - the course is 1127 yards long, rises over 200 feet and has a few short straights some curves and at least one hairpin which is described as breath taking. Most cars made the circuit in less that 80 seconds with the fastest achieving it in about half of that.

Our next stop was something just as thrilling - the horse races in Stratford on Avon.  Here we tested our gambling skills and came out 20 pence better off than when we went in (excluding the entrance fee and cup of coffee).  By betting on horses that are at odds 250:1 we didn't have a good chance anyway, but when Northumberland refused to start and the jockey needed a helpful pull from the starter there wasn't much hope of reaping £253 for our £2 bet.  So second to last wasn't too bad for old Northumberland in the novice race (the commentator mentioned at each jump that he didn't take that it tidily and we were waiting for the jockey to be planted on the ground and the horse to finish the race riderless).  I've read a few John Francombe and Dick Francis books and so enjoyed seeing the local bookies in action and competing for our few pounds by changing the odds - all very sophisticated linked up to the web. Also there were no starting gates - the horses start by going round in circles in a bunch - a bit like the Americas Cup where the yachts have to get to the start line at the right time. Anyway, just to let you know we went to a prestigous race course here in the words of some 1769 writer:

"The Course upon this most beautiful Meadow (allowed to be one of the finest in the Kingdom) has been altered and made greatly more convenient and agreeable both for Horses and Spectators. Indeed, there was very little Occasion for Art where Nature has been so lavish of her Bounties; the Stream of the Surrounding Avon, the verdant lawns, and the rising Hills and Woods form a Scene too delicious for Description."

More on the transport theme was planned for Monday - but the weather put paid to the transport show at Radley House with most exhibitors not turning up or leaving early.  But I did find my dream camper van before we had a walk around the sculpture garden and through the house - decorated in the Palladian style. The house was designed by Robert Hooke in 1680 and it did have some interesting features and furniture we hadn't seen before - chairs painted black in rememberance of Nelson - a two seater lounger with a little circle table for tea in the middle.  The garden around the back framed the house well in all my favourite colours pinks, purples and whites - mainly lavendar and roses.

http://www.ragleyhall.com/housestate.html

We also had a sojourn around the Yorkshire Sculpture Park- again in not particularly brilliant weather - Hazzy lost his sense of humour when it started to rain and we were eating noodles on a park bench with our fingers and car keys (we had forgotten our forks) but he soon cheered up when I said 'Look there are more sculptures to see'.  We were actually quite impressed with this park - which had both indoor and outdoor displays. We could see lots of sculptures by famous people (actually we had not really heard of them before this weekend but they are famous!).  Jaume Plensa who is about our age hails from Barcelona and certainly has a knack for capturing the imagination (none of this stuff with a couple of planks of wood, or misshapen human bodies).  A quote from him 

"A city is a living body, a geography of transformation, a pile of particular reference points, unique in each case. There are no two identical cities; however a common denominator makes them familiar and recognisable: anonymity....the relinquishment of intimacy (personal freedom) in favour of anonymity (uniform) has left a deep mark on art in public places."

 

 

There were also some sculptures by Dame Barbara Hepworth who died in 1975.  Although her art had less visual resemblance to something we actually know we enjoyed it just as much.

 We went to a really nice restaurant on the way back, near Harvington, which I doubt we would ever be able to find again.  Had a vegetable tandoori masala - and have now found a recipe which looks similar so will need to give it a go as it was so yummy.