Showing posts from March, 2010

Way off Wonderland

I'd like to start with saying my walk was an enjoyable romp in the countryside; but alas this was not the case. The following picture gives the clue. For as, you see, this is the mighty M4 motorway which I had to cross actually on the Way,   just outside Tormarton. If you look carefully at the brown information sign you will see that it bears the legend " Bath Spa " , indicating, how relatively close I am to the finishing point. This reminds me, that one brave chap is trying to run the ENTIRE Cotswold Way  in 24 hours or less. read his story here: After crossing this motorway on the trail to Cold Ashton, I was led along a minor road only to be met by a large barn and nearby farmhouse. Soon I was on a green, scrubby path, which led to a busy road. This one had to cross with care, and allowed me   to view the delights of a vehicle inspection site, next to a  dubious litter-strewn cops

Tweet a way : Steeplechase.

Well chime my bluebells; another good day in God's fresh air; sun up in the sky ( pray where else should it be)?  Green lush fields dotted with many sheep  and  all combined  with the start of Spring, ( in an equinox sense ) and goodness me  you have a very fair day for a walk along  the Way.  I started at Old Sodbury Church, made my way down into the village,  crossed the main road and after a short amble along a street ascended through fields and soon arrived in the parkland of Dodington House. I stopped by the side of an ornamental bridge for a coffee and  tried my first tweet on the Way . The above, is my, not very exciting picture of the event. Anyway, the process worked and so,  should I need to I can now report in 'real time ' (140 characters or less ) whilst on the walk;  a Cotswold 'twit ' indeed. Continuing  the walk I soon reached higher ground,affording some splendid views . This picture, I think demonstrates, the " Capability Brown "

A Tale of Two Churches : Radar Views

Well croak my crocus ; again what a difference a  week makes . This time the same blue sky , but warmth at my back . This week's walk  on the Way   took me from Horton to Old Sodbury . The first part , led upwards through a large  field ,  electrically fenced in rectangles in order to enable horses to have their ' pick of grass ' and very contented they looked . The  Way  went straight up the middle , eventually entering another field with a steep gradient , having some examples of training fences/hurdles on the side : all very apposite on the eve of the Cheltenham National Hunt Festival. Coming out of the fields by the side of a private house , I entered a road leading to the quiet village of Little Sodbury and soon reached the church of St. Adeline. Picture 1 on the left , shows the rather attractive gates , in front of the porch ,  ( clicking on the photo will enlarge the detail ) . It was in this village that William Tyndale , in 1526 first started preach

Ramblings along the Way : Van Vliet ; complete

I feel some more explanation is required regarding my last posting " H2H ' . The title refers to a journey I made on the Way , from the Hawkesbury Somerset (Lord General Robert ) Monument to the village of Horton ; a distance of two and three quarters of a mile. In my posting , I wanted to convey how cold it was at the start of the journey ; the sense of dislocation , being taunted by blue skies and crystal clear landscape and yet having the reality of a numbing chill , which seemed to invade my very marrow. The route , that morning had a dreamlike quality , with a sense of a time -lapsed reality ; so that the two jets in the sky appeared to hang as in a slow motion replay . One thing , not included in my last posting was the view of Horton Court , a National Trust property , seen from " the copse of wood" Picture 4 shows the Court; and again quoting from the admirable Mr. Burton " a house of great antiquity ; the oldest part of which dates back t

H 2 H : All is Folly.

Robert looks up to psychotic blue. Raw cold. Chilled bones. Denuded pond. No life. The bridle path rises; imprint of chalk on hooves. Contrails pattern the sky. As boys flash their toys. Passing into frost-encrusted fields. And reaching a copse of wood partly collapsed , redundant as trees. To higher ground I traverse and espy a vista of Severn reaches and Welsh skyline. Rest Room here. Then to descend and reach an owl tower. Folly indeed. Bemused , I follow the sound of voices floating on air like a disjointed choir rehearsal. All noise and little substance. The children of Horton at play. Ck 08/03/'10 Captain's Log Moondate last quarter +1 " Truth has no patterns. "

Monumental March

Well dilly my daffs , what a difference a month makes. The sky was blue with a light covering of frost and some ice was observed in a few puddles , as I set out from The Somerset Monument , near Hawkesbury Upton . This monument was erected in 1846 in memory of General Robert Somerset , who was in command of the Household Cavalry Brigade , which distinguished itself at Waterloo. This monument was erected near his ancestral home at Badminton (Beaufort ). After the 'nightmare ' , that was February , it was time to dwell on the ' daymares ' , such as Dawn Run , the only horse ever to win the Champion Hurdle ( 1984 ) and the Tote Cheltenham Gold Cup ( 1986 ) . Never was such a wall of noise heard in '86 when the mare Dawn Run rose to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat on the run-in up the Cheltenham hill . Barely could could the crowd discern the sound of the ' bookies ' weeping into their satchels as all those notes were prised from them . It