A farm building at Climperwell, a euphonious place name if any there is, sports this weather vane, which I spotted today towards the end of our walk. Three of us set out in the mist from Foston's Ash, traipsing through more mud than we have been used to for many a month.
But what has become of the driver of this handsome combo? Was he perhaps distracted while bowling along through nearby Buckle Woods, and - failing to anticipate a bend - ejected from his carriage? A sticky moment. Similar indeed to the one that we so nearly experienced in those same woods en route to our rendezvous this morning.
It put me in mind of the first of three major brushes with death I have had in the past forty years: it took place forty years ago today. At about 8 p.m. I was driving home from Kingham Station when, near Bledington - a fitting location - I ran into the back of an ill-lit farm trailer. Thank God for seat belts!
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