freeranger

Takács Quartet

2012-01-25T08:37:00.003Z

Once more, the Cheltenham Music Society has triumphed, in securing the Takács Quartet for their tour's only UK out-of-London recital: recognised as one of the world's leading ensembles, last night they played for a packed Pittville Pump Room audience Haydn's "Lark", Britten no. 3 and Dvořák Op. 51. Could the programming possibly have been influenced by all three works being led off by the second violinist, Károly Schranz, 60 this year? Whatevs.

Talking to Alec Hamilton beforehand, I learnt that he "suffers" Haydn. Poor man! How else can you account for Beethoven? There are a couple of bars in the first movement of the "Lark" and more than a couple in the last movement that pre-echo even late Beethoven.

And without Beethoven, no Britten: his intense last quartet formed the meat course last night. The soaring violin of the Ostinato 2nd movement even outmatching in its eloquence the leader's role in the "Lark" opening.

You can still hear the Takács playing the Haydn and Dvořák (at the Wigmore on Monday) via the iPlayer for five days more. They look and sound like a happy bunch. With their talent, they are as generous as Bill Gates says he would have all the American Presidential candidates be - but some hope there!

Also on Monday, the young Russians making up the Atrium Quartet were broadcast live. Catching up with them on the iPlayer, I admired their early Beethoven in particular: a different sound, but gripping. This quartet is one to watch out for.

"The Artist"

2012-01-24T08:30:00.001Z

This is such a clever film! Our expectations were high, which is usually dangerous; but seeing it last night there was no feeling of let-down. It really has it all: glitz, drama, romance, comedy (lots of in-jokes), dancing, a bit of the surreal – and, reluctant as I am to admit it, a sympathetic dog. When all’s said, though, it left me curiously dry-eyed. I think I was turned off by the hero of the piece: his “Jeeves” was - on the other hand - delightful.

This photograph - taken in Nara when we were in Japan a couple of years ago - is of course of no relevance whatever to the film!

Potato Festival

2012-01-23T07:54:00.001Z

The first major social event in the gardening calendar locally is Dundry Nurseries' annual Potato Festival, held this last weekend. The mild weather added to the crowds, so it became quite a jostle in Chris Evans' big shed. People were there from far and wide, the word circulating ever more widely about the great service Dundry offers: leaving aside the heritage items, they had supplies of upwards of 120 varieties available - and will keep the stocks up till Easter, Chris assured us. A lady went round with a tray of buns for the many extra helpers who came in - some from GOGG: Mac, the 62-year-old parrot sat on her shoulder (he hates men).

Caroline had known Chris - and his work with young people - for many years: his pride and joy now is The Butterfly Garden, adjacent to Dundry - a project for people of all ages coping with disablement.

Art of Transition

2012-01-22T11:27:00.003Z

What is left of the once celebrated Cheltenham School of Art (founded over 150 years ago) is now located in the University of Gloucestershire's Hardwick Campus. I went there for the first time yesterday: Transition Town Cheltenham's Heart and Soul Group were running an Art of Transition course there. It was well subscribed, the keynote speech being by the University's Arran Stibbe, assisted by his five-year-old son. Arran's theme was that images - not necessarily artistic - can help to point the way towards a new lifestyle for communities.

This made sense to me, as a Christian member of the Group - rather like religious images as an aid to prayer. Yet, as Sara Maitland points out in a thoughtful article in this week’s Tablet, “Our God creates by speaking and most usually communicates with that Creation through words and songs – rather than direct visual appearances.”

Arran's is, furthermore, art as function, not for art's sake; though perhaps our problem is that we lose sight of things for their own sake. Certainly, it's difficult to avoid putting a price on everything: free entry to the Heart and Soul group's "heartening" event - complementary biscuits and juices into the bargain - no doubt helped those attending (myself included) to feel they were walking the talk.

The photograph shows local graphic designer, Jacqui Brown's practical art workshop: she had raided the marvellous Gloucester Scrapstore for our benefit. (On Thursday, the Gloucestershire Churches Environmental Justice Network heard Richard Walter of the local Community Energy Co-operative talk about the huge PV array recently-installed on the Scrapstore roof: it should yield £1800 a month in Summertime!)

Besides Jacqui's workshop, Pat Dannahy ran a session on The art of Communication, and Lesley O'Neill a workshop on the Artist's Way.
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"The Winter's Tale"

2012-01-21T19:16:00.001Z

The all-male company, Propeller are in Cheltenham with two Shakespeare plays: we saw The Winter's Tale yesterday evening, last seen by me in 1993 (Adrian Noble's magical production at Stratford). This was only the second night of Edward Hall's production, and perhaps it will improve; but I wonder. The verse speaking left a lot to be desired: so much of the text is gabbled. (We were near the front, and I don't think I'm getting that deaf!)

In the first three Acts, men playing ladies' roles are fine. But then a major problem arose, with the entry of the 16-year-old Perdita. In Shakespeare's day, I imagine it wasn't as difficult a part as many others in the canon for a teenage boy, who could look much like a beautiful princess in shepherd's guise; but Ben Allen? No.

The best bit of the evening by far was the chorus of sheep - The Bleatles. A pity the bear wasn't equally evident. And a great shame there were so many empty seats! For, whatever one's reservations about the production, it's a joy to have live Shakespeare in our beautiful Everyman Theatre. Is this the recession?

Ray Finch RIP

2012-01-20T18:29:00.000Z

This Christmas, for the first time in very many years, there had been no card bearing Ray's graceful handwriting; and now I hear of his "peaceful" death, on Wednesday.

More than 30 years ago, he was awarded the MBE: nobody could have worn his honour more modestly. He was an inspiration to generations of potters, as well as being one of the easiest people to love and respect. We first met in 1974, when I went to live within Winchcombe Catholic parish, of which Ray and his wife Muriel were quiet stalwarts. Muriel involved me in the formation of the town's overseas development project, a charity we called Save a starving village trust - an informal "twinning" of Winchcombe with Kanjianal in Bangladesh. The bowl Ray gave us for our wedding present remains one of our most treasured possessions - now alas, a little chipped. What a privilege it was to have known Winchcombe's most distinguished craftsman - indeed resident!

I took this photograph on 18th March 1993, the day Jodami won the Cheltenham Gold Cup.

Disconcertment

2012-01-19T18:39:00.000Z

Guardian readers are in turmoil. Nothing is where you expect to find it any longer. Alan Rushbridger's quite inadequate letter has satisfied no one. At least in this household.

What's more, we've been thrashed in the cricket.

"The Concert"

2012-01-18T08:10:00.000Z

On its release in 2009, the New York Times hated it, as did some of our own papers; but we are still raving about last night's chaotic Cheltenham Film Society offering - a take on Russian Jewish musicians somehow getting it together to play Tchaikovsky in Paris's Théâtre du Châtelet. As a romantic tear-jerker-cum-action-packed political farce, it risked falling between every stool; but as a piece of magic-realist escapism, it was a great evening out, for this general music-lover anyway. Buena Vista Social Club on speed.

The fragrant Melanie Laurent steals the show, run close by Gheorghe Anghel of the brilliant Taraf de Haïdouks, stars of a couple of our Cheltenham festivals in past years. I felt sorry for those who left when the film started running without subtitles: they missed a treat.

Adrian Cave RIP

2012-01-17T16:35:00.002Z

We met the Caves at Stansted Airport, all four off on a blind date for a weekend in France. Happy times in the Autumn sunshine at Chavenat!

Small wonder that in the decade that ensued, we became friends. But none of the following memories quite catch Adrian's calm knowledgeability or that conspiratorial twinkle of mischievousness:

* Adrian gobsmacked by the monolithic church at Aubeterre

* Adrian downing beer in the Spring sunshine outside the Green Dragon

* Adrian mounting the steps of St Peter's, Winchcombe in his black top hat

* Adrian fresh from the London train on his fold-up bicycle

* Adrian guiding the nuns of Stanbrook onto unaccustomed green paths in his beloved Yorkshire

* Adrian calling upon a lifetime's architectural experience in the transformation of a garden shed: Peter Pan and his Wendy house.

"Thy kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven."

"freeranger: a fourth volley"

2012-01-16T17:47:00.000Z

The book of my 2011 posts has arrived today. As its name implies, it's the 4th in the series, each one printed handsomely by Blurb. This time, I have used white text against a black background throughout, and a slightly larger font. All very satisfactory, though I say it myself.

Jonathan Biss

2012-01-15T16:47:00.004Z

Yesterday's Heart and Soul group discussed ways in which we could each intensify our local community experience. The implication being that, if we needed to travel anywhere, let's go low-carbon. Better however to stay at home. That was in the middle of the day: in the evening we took the car an hour Southwards, to hear a pianist from Indiana, flown in a few hours before from New York. And in the interval, the talk was with one person just returned from New Zealand, another off to Burma this week, a third having been skiing since New Year in Wyoming, a fourth glad that his cruise had not ended with a rocky encounter off the Tuscan coast.

In this private concert, Jonathan Biss, 31, tried out a programme he's to perform seven times in three different countries over the coming five weeks. "Remember, you're hearing it here first," our hostess warned me last night. Indeed we shall: this "outstanding" performer played Beethoven, Chopin and sublime Janáček to the huge acclaim of a discerning audience, before sending us home with a silvery sliver of Schumann.

My photograph was taken while Biss rehearsed for his Tetbury Festival recital in October 2010.

Got weaving

2012-01-14T10:00:00.009Z

Caroline's loom has just produced a beautiful hanging, which we are taking to Edmund this afternoon, to hang in his cottage.

She wanted it photographed without her in the picture; but somehow this wouldn't do (for me anyway). Not bad for a beginner (the weaving), don't you agree?

Symon says...

2012-01-13T16:32:00.000Z

Burma featured in the news this morning, more political prisoners having been freed, thank God! And last evening we heard our friend Canon Roger Symon give an excellent account of his recent visits to that country. Speaking to a full house in the Cheltenham Junior School Assembly Hall, he described his mission, to arrange an official visit by the Archbishop of Canterbury's representative to the Burmese Anglican Church. This representative was to be Roger's old boss, George Carey, Rowan Williams' predecessor.

Roger (no spring chicken, he won't mind the description) and his wife came to live in Cheltenham, having served as Secretary of the Anglican Communion between 1986 and 1994, taking the place of the imprisoned Terry Waite. He was brave indeed, therefore, to emerge from retirement to undertake this delicate assignment. For Archbishop Stephen of Burma would clearly rather his high profile party had stayed at home, than come and stir things up by visiting refugee camps and meeting Anglicans, identified by Burma's military rulers as natural sympathisers with the separatist cause.

Still worse were their plans to see Aung San Suu Kyi, whom the Archbishop of Burma had always avoided meeting. He did however send a message via Carey: "We all love her: she is our hope for the future." Having heard this, Daw Suu exclaimed, "No hope without endeavour! Hope is concrete, not just a concept. It has to be gained by practical work."

And thus the way was opened to the first encounter between the Archbishop of Burma and The Lady.

Hungarian

2012-01-11T07:52:00.000Z

In September 1970, I spent a couple of days in Budapest, staying with a doctor friend, whom I'd met (and had to stay) when he had visited London earlier that Summer. It was one of those episodes, the importance of which bears no relation to its duration. The reason? The intensity of the hospitality I received from Ádám and his mother, living in circumstances far reduced from those they had earlier been used to, but unceasingly generous to this traveller passing through - certainly compared to the standard I'd set in London.

Since then, we have corresponded regularly - if only at Christmas - though I have never been back to Hungary. Knowing Ádám (and - over time - his family) even in this tangential way has stimulated an interest in all things Hungarian, particularly the music of Bartók and Kodály. Politically and economically, the country appears from here currently to be in a mess, alas - but this seems happily unreflected in the family photograph I've just received, taken near Lake Balaton last Summer.

Gold etc.

2012-01-08T19:18:00.028Z

This weekend, we celebrate Epiphany. Our crib has been enhanced, by the coming of one of the Kings, an albino (or is it just grey hair?), bearing a gold ball. He's the product of the Caroline and Mini papier-mâché production line, which is gradually assembling a complete set of Nativity figures. Joseph and a second sheep are also 2011 additions to the ensemble on our hall table - much admired by visitors, but now to be put away in the attic.

At church itself, we have a collection of any old bits of gold today, to be sold in aid of the St Thomas More parish hall refurbishment fund.

Old friends

2012-01-06T12:08:00.025Z

Caroline and I got engaged to be married in East Anglia, while staying with friends of mine, who had not long been married themselves. In other words, they showed us the way.

It's a trek, to get to see them (and vice versa), but we were pleased they could drop in on us for the night yesterday, which they did, bearing lilies. John and I had a quick march round the Park Campus lake this morning, before they headed off South. They don't seem to have changed much in nearly four decades.

carpetman

2012-01-04T16:05:00.000Z

Agnes and Edmund combined to buy Caroline a carpet for Christmas, for Agnes' old room at the top of the house, which is now - as a result - a cosy office for her. Rob Smith (who's been to us before, though I didn't remember his face) came to do the laying, and - obligingly - to tidy up our carpetting generally, especially the thresholds - and the wine-soaked landing: we hadn't had anyone round since the plumbers took all the floorboards up this time last year.

Pura sicco me un angelo

2012-01-03T08:06:00.047Z

I've been Listening Again to the Royal Opera House's La Traviata, broadcast on New Year's Eve (when I missed it). No performance by this particular cast seems to have been reviewed, but it does contain at least one outstanding interpretation, that of Ailyn Pérez in the title rôle. Nothing can quite erase the impression Ileana Cotrubas or Montserrat Caballé made on this impressionable listener in the Gods at Covent Garden decades ago; but Pérez sang with an intensity which I've not heard for a long time. Her vocal acting reminded me of Callas, which is saying a lot.

The words in the heading were not of course sung in reference to Violetta; and probably shouldn't be applied either to our granddaughter, who has been staying with us for a nice while; but she did look rather adorable, feeding the ducks by The Park's lake yesterday, in her "new" (eBay) coat. She's been enjoying Darcey Bussell's take on Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, Debbie Reynolds and Cyd Charisse, sitting on my knee.

[I've since read of Hugh Canning's enthusiasm for Pérez's Violetta.]

Happy New Year!

2012-01-01T21:32:00.013Z

For some years now, we have been presented with an original New Year's card by our lovely Japanese daughter-in-law. This year's is one of the best.

"Beautiful sunlight brightens an auspicious cloud," she writes: "auspicious cloud" being a symbol of happiness, and the crane, a symbol of long life and good luck.

New Year's Eve resolution

2011-12-31T21:26:00.000Z

Caroline's dog has been ailing for a while. Indeed, after a last operation (of many), the vet gave it a precise 56 days to live, which expired on Boxing Day. This morning, she bravely made the call to have her put down. Then it was just a question of communicating the sad news to the children and grandchildren.

A recent parish bulletin has an apposite piece, "Some signs and symptoms of inner peace." I set them all out below, with best wishes for the coming year.

A tendency to think and act spontaneously rather, than on fears based on past experiences

An unmistakable ability to enjoy each moment

A loss of interest in judging other people

A loss of interest in interpreting the actions of others

A loss of interest in conflict

A loss of the ability to worry - a very serious symptom

Frequent, overwhelming episodes of appreciation

Contented feelings of connectedness with others and nature

Frequent attacks of smiling

An increasing tendency to let things happen rather than make them happen

An increased susceptibility to the love extended by others as well as the uncontrollable urge to extend it

Randomness

2011-12-30T19:13:00.044Z

Our friend's Edmund de Waal pots can be rearranged ad lib., which gives him (and others) enormous pleasure. We had a jolly lunch there yesterday. Equally random seems the ability of certain streets to attract wealthy people to live in them.

Back in the mid- to late-Sixties, I shared a flat with Mark Fuller, Geoffrey Tilleard and Hugh Chatwin in Chelsea. It was on the first and second floors of no. 13 Bramerton Street, which runs South off the King's Road, not far down from Sydney Street. Then, with its gay nightclub in the adjoining basement, it really wasn't all that smart a place to live: I guess my rent might have been £6 a week. Now I read in the paper that Bramerton Street is in the top 10 list of dearest addresses in Britain.

Lord's Wood

2011-12-29T10:16:00.001Z

Caroline dropped me off at Foston's Ash yesterday morning, to meet up with a friend and his dog: ours isn't up to much. We all later gathered for a protracted pub lunch.

From the busy Birdlip-Bisley road, you are soon it seems miles away, dropping down into the National Trust's Workmans Wood. A muddy track descends through the beeches, past a lake and into Sheepscombe. From there we climbed up the bank into Lord's Wood, before swinging round North of Ebworth House and back to the road. Many hares were started: few solutions arrived at.

"Die Meistersinger"

2011-12-28T09:43:00.044Z

On Boxing Night, Caroline and I endured a grim night at Cineworld: Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows looked the best of a poor selection, but neither of us enjoyed it much.

By contrast, Die Meistersinger triumphed last night at Covent Garden. I was the lucky holder of a staff ticket, entitling me to sit at the back of the Orchestra Stalls at a fraction of the normal price. Within 18 months, I've heard it three times: I enjoyed the Glyndebourne production, with Gerry Finlay's notable Sachs, relayed to Malvern in June - a match for Bryn Terfel in the WNO version (which I caught at the 2010 Proms). But this consistently amazing Wagner score never sounded so well as under Pappano's baton at the Opera House, despite some quibbles with the production. What a treat!

"The Sense of an Ending"

2011-12-27T09:27:00.031Z

Julian Barnes' Booker Prize-winning novella was on my Christmas list, as it's the current read for our book group. My sister Sarah kindly came up with it, and I've now read it (in what is - for me - record time).

It's a sad story, but intriguing, unfolding as it does right up to the penultimate page. Barnes is at his best writing about recollection of the past. "My memory," his narrator sighs at one point, "has increasingly become a mechanism which reiterates apparently truthful data with little variation." My feelings precisely.

"No robin, no Santa"

2011-12-25T17:26:00.020Z

There's a lull in proceedings following lunch for 15 here. So, here's the cover of my latest Blurb book, a copy having been given to Caroline this morning. Its brief introduction reads:

"My father, who was in the paper business, produced his own family Christmas cards some years. This sowed a seed, which started to bear fruit in 1992: it was then that I first contacted The Thought Factory in Leicester, with a view to their printing a card which made use of one of my photographs: they have continued to print cards for me every year since. This book brings together the collection (to date), along with subject descriptions, and a little background information on how each photograph came to be taken.

In concentrating on its religious significance, I feel, like Mrs. Partington with her mop, that I may have done rather little to arrest the process by which Christmas has become increasingly secularised. And anyway, you may ask, who wants a glossy throwaway card at a time when trees need saving and a second class stamp costs 36p? Well, now here’s a glossy book to compound my sin."

Happy Christmas all!

"Jack and the beanstalk"

2011-12-23T17:09:00.003Z

Last year, Edmund and I took William to Cinderella at our Everyman Theatre: this afternoon, we felt it was the turn of the full trio of Davis grandchildren to come along. I'm not sure I can recall ever seeing Jack and the beanstalk before, but certainly not done to death as in this too lengthy, jazzed-up production: the stars of an over-blown show were undoubtedly the cow and the giant.

Toyota town

2011-12-21T16:28:00.041Z

Our Toyota Corolla failed its MOT today. I suppose, at the age of eight, that should not be too shocking. In the light of its previous reliability, though, I was taken aback rather.

A couple of hundred pounds needs spending on it, to put things right, which is not the end of the world. But what never ceases to amaze me is the soullessness of modern car showrooms! After sitting in a plastic bucket chair for two hours, with coffee machine whirring and television flashing in the background (I did at least locate the volume control), I drove home through our tree-lined streets pleasantly surprised that I was still on planet Earth.

Contrapuntal carols

2011-12-20T12:27:00.070Z

Our parish carol service - held yesterday evening - attracted an enormous crowd! The church glowed in the candlelight. The choir excelled itself, which was just as well as the congregational singing - in traditional English Catholic style - barely exceeded forte. Fr. Bosco, succinctly distinguishing the Nativity from the incarnation, gave one of his uniformly good sermons.

It all contrasted nicely with the evening before: unlike last night, the champagne flowed, and our generous South Gloucestershire friends' Christmas party may serve as their sole involvement with the Nativity narrative for some of the regular suspects rounded up on this invariably jolly occasion. Having two pianos perhaps made the backsliders sing up a bit more willingly than usual. Florence, a precocious nine-year-old, led off Once in royal... Our host as ever took the part of Wenceslas. One half of the assembly sang The First Nowell against the other's Holly and the ivy.

Oh, and for We three kings, I was promoted from second to first this year!

Mary Webster RIP

2011-12-19T09:41:00.042Z

Today the funeral takes place of my cousin Trevor Webster's wife Mary. In fact, it has already happened, the "venue" being Sydney, New South Wales. Mary and Trevor put Leo and me up for a few days when we went to Sydney in January 1998 - in fact more than that, they provided endless hospitality as well as introductions to places we would never have discovered on our own.

We had first met several years before that, following my father's death: then we lived up in the Cotswolds, and they came to supper while - by one of those extraordinary coincidences - staying with an old friend of Mary's from the next village.

The story of Mary and Trevor's emigration deserves wider publicity: together with their 18-month-old son, they set off from England in June 1958, along with another couple - two cars and much luggage - driving across almost the entirety of Europe and Asia. Arriving in North Australia by boat, they were all set to turn left for Sydney, but were warned against this: "you could never carry enough water to get through on that route!" So, turning the other way, they arrived in Sydney on 17th January 1959 via Perth, Adelaide and Melbourne. On our 1998 visit, we saw the car they had come in. It was in course of restoration, subsequently completed.

Mary's last illness was short, her death (aged 81) sudden. She will be sorely missed by her three children and five grandchildren, as well as by countless friends; but in particular by Trevor.

Oxford catering

2011-12-18T10:37:00.000Z

A different ceiling photograph today: I took this last night in Oxford's Divinity School, the venue for a dinner to celebrate John and Maria Paz's wedding earlier in the year, in Chile. (The elaborate lierne vaulting dates from the 1480s, we were told by the groom's father.)

While this setting perfectly matched the sumptuous dinner we were given (Chilean wines to accompany it), the lunch I had earlier was a discordant affair: Jesus College Hall dates from three centuries later (than the Divinity School), but with its portraits of Elizabeth I and Charles I, not to mention Lawrence of Arabia and Harold Wilson, inspires a similar degree of awe. All right, term had ended, and I was being treated, but "hot lunch" consisting of a sausage, fried egg, a few chips and some spears of broccoli - in a soup bowl - still didn't quite fit.

The Jevons paradox

2011-12-17T09:37:00.002Z

Coming back from Malvern last evening, I was struck more than usually by the degree to which people seem to have money (and carbon) to burn. Above is a detail from a photograph I took on a bright Summer day in a tent at Cheltenham Racecourse - Greenbelt: they should know better. Now, as Christmas approaches, I noted once again that there is hardly a house without its tree lit up, visible through the unclosed curtains. Worse still is the number of houses with flashing lights festooned over their exterior.

And, yes, the roofs of some of those houses even sport photovoltaic panels. Thus supporting the theory of W.S. Jevons, writing some 170 years ago: Jevons argued that improvements in fuel efficiency tend to increase, rather than decrease, fuel use: he observed that England's consumption of coal soared after James Watt introduced his coal-fired steam engine, greatly improving on the efficiency of earlier designs. Watt's innovations made coal a more cost-effective power source, leading to the increased use of the steam engine in a wide range of industries. This in turn increased total coal consumption, even as the amount of coal required for any particular application fell. At that time, many worried that coal reserves were dwindling: some thought increasing efficiency would reduce consumption. Jevons however argued that further increases in efficiency would tend to increase the use of coal. Hence, increasing efficiency would tend to increase, rather than reduce, the rate at which England's coal deposits were being depleted.

Similarly, those benefiting from the feed-in tarrif are saying, perhaps: "What the heck? Now we don't need to worry about turning the lights off!" What prospect therefore of fossil fuels being left in the ground?

MalVern

2011-12-15T23:39:00.002Z

The jolly quintet in Lilas Pastia's Tavern was by far and away the highlight of Co-Opera Co.'s Carmen in the Forum at Malvern this evening. You could see from this where Gilbert & Sullivan went for their inspiration. We were sitting in the second row, quite a gap between us and the orchestra, which was on the level in front of a fairly narrow rostrum stage, with the permanent backdrop of some Moorish-looking arches. The cast of nine singers had its work cut out to convey the flavour of Seville and its mountainous hinterland - Act 3 ("A wild and deserted rocky place at night") looked more like an apology for the Occupy movement, with its trio of wigwams; but the drama somehow won through. Certainly Adriana Festeu looks the part of Carmen, and I was impressed too by the band of 15, James Holmes conducting. This young company is one to encourage.

"Is your work post-modern?"

2011-12-13T12:26:00.069Z

This was the first question put to architect Sir Richard MacCormac after his lecture in Cheltenham last evening. He called it "Intentions in Architecture". Illustrated with drawings and photographs of many of his projects, he claimed to have reevaluated the past, without adopting a classical language. "Why aren't we comfortable with the word beauty?" he asked.

The invitation to speak came following the presentation of a Civic Award to Sir Richard for his work on our local Maggie's Centre (mentioned in a post last September): "It's a building about love," he said, the care he had taken over it clearly being a sign of the affection in which he had held the late (eponymous) Maggie Jencks.

Before I left, I had a chance to ask Sir Richard whether he felt any constraint in designing buildings to be energy efficient. "No," he replied: "Look at my new St John's, Oxford design: though it is nearly carbon-neutral, you can't tell from its appearance." He conjectured later, "Shall we always be able to go on using so much energy to heat our living spaces? It's only such a recent luxury - think of the days of warm indoor clothing and people huddled together on settles in front of a wood fire. Don't sheep have the right idea?"

My photograph shows Sir Richard with Mary Paterson, in whose father's name the lecture took place - it's an annual event organised by the Cheltenham Civic Society, which I suppose I ought to join.

And the answer to the question? "Yes, in its strict sense: post-modern as a word has been trashed."

"It's called losing"

2011-12-12T17:58:00.047Z

A great-grandmother of mine was born in Daventry: we went there briefly on Saturday, but not for family history purposes. A short way South of the town lies the village of Canons Ashby, dominated by the remains of its Priory and an Elizabethan manor house, the home for many years of the Dryden family, now owned by the National Trust: we didn't have time to pay a proper visit, but this delightful early 18th Century statue caught the eye when I had a peep over the garden wall from the roadside.

Segue to Chris Heaton-Harris, Daventry's Eurosceptic MP, who numbered himself amongst the 100 or more Members putting questions to the Prime Minister in the Commons this afternoon: unusually, I found myself watching more or less the whole proceedings. You couldn't but admire Cameron's stamina and courtesy, in keeping up the appearance of considering each question on its merits. But he surely suffered from Ed Milliband's early barb: a veto, he said, was what one deployed to stop something from taking place. If what you tried to stop goes ahead anyway, it's not a veto - "it's called losing."

The Durban platform

2011-12-11T17:22:00.071Z

Two items have dominated the news this weekend: in Europe, our Prime Minister reached for the unilateral opt-out (surely a better description than "the veto"); whilst in South Africa some sort of legally-binding climate treaty looks now to be on the cards - thanks largely to the EU's climate chief (Connie Hedegaard)'s efforts. (What better illustration do you require Mr. Cameron, of the importance of us playing a full part in Europe?)

Both events will impinge far more upon a four-year-old than on someone of my age, but so far from this being the public perception, all we hear are Hooray Henrys on the Tory right apparently regardless of the significance of the Durban roadmap: it may only be a mouse, where a lion-sized compact for humanity's future is required, but it's better than nothing.

"Operation Greenfield"

2011-12-10T21:36:00.000Z

Today's photograph was taken less than a mile from last Sunday's (of another old tree). This field, however, is not under threat, being virtually part of the Cotswold escarpment. Nor does the church in the distance, St Peter's, in any way resemble that portrayed in the play we saw last night, at our local Parabola Arts Centre. "Operation Greenfield", a presentation by Little Bulb Theatre, received warm commendation in the national press ("recklessly talented... insanely brave"), but it went off like a damp squib with the meagre Cheltenham audience. Was it meant to evangelise or (mildly) scandalise? Whatever, it was nothing like the piece of theatre brought to Cheltenham last month by Kneehigh: The Wild Bride.

Guy Edwardes

2011-12-08T22:12:00.004Z

Cheltenham Camera Club put on a special event this evening, a lecture by the photographer Guy Edwardes. I didn't bother to book a ticket in advance, and when I arrived ahead of time at the Town Hall the room was virtually full, all seats sold. Happily they squeezed me into a hot corner at the back.

I'm glad I went, as Edwardes' work is thrilling, if rather more artificial-looking than the effect I strive for. One of the 300-odd landscape/nature pictures he put up must have been taken from a similar vantage point to the one above. (His result is very considerably better!) My photograph dates from April 1999, and I was standing by the Belvedere at La Foce, Iris Origo's former home in Tuscany.

Service

2011-12-06T22:23:00.001Z

I took the bus to Witney today, almost the first time I've been to (as opposed to through) that town. I seem to recall a visit with my mother, who had worked for a little while in the famous Early's factory in the 'Thirties as part of her social studies diploma experience: we came away with a bright red blanket. Now, it's almost a decade since blankets were made in Witney, which has seen much redevelopment alongside its original heart - full of the usual charity shops.

I was there to see a friend who was hospital-bound: the only place for a chat was apparently the landing by the lift and stair-head, not exactly an oasis of peace. Whilst bureaucracy ensured that the patient had plenty of scope for cultivating... patience, it was still evident that a culture of very personal service prevailed within the hospital. It contrasted interestingly with the situation portrayed in Sebastián Silva's The Maid, which we saw this evening (at the Film Society). Its protagonist is of a type more commonly found in Silva's 21st Century Chile than in 21st Century England, where next to nobody is called to the vocation of a maid. What the film expertly sketches is the degree of genuine attachment members of a family can feel for their long-suffering servant, brilliantly acted by Catalina Saavedra. "I love them and they love me. I'm part of the family," her character confesses.

Joint Core Strategy

2011-12-04T16:46:00.003Z

This comes up for public consultation shortly: the three local authorities have combined to present a plan for the future of their considerable area - and this they say means more housing, but where? Our "amenity land" in Leckhampton is particularly vulnerable, only one of several targetted pockets around Cheltenham, Gloucester and Tewkesbury.

I have photographed this magnificent oak tree before, captioning a warning about the future of its location. My best man and his wife (plus dog) being with us for the weekend, we all walked past it again today in its late Autumn majesty.

Down the Bath Road

2011-12-03T16:26:00.003Z

All the fun of the fair is to be had this weekend in our Bath Road. There’s nowadays a regular weekend market on the Robert Young site, where I had a useful photographic chat with one of the stallholders. We then visited the Cheltenham Connect Christmas fair at the Exmouth Arms, and I met another photographer, seasonally decorated. A jolly musical accompaniment was provided by Ukaholics. I felt I'd come a very long way from Leicester here!

Since its inception nearly three years ago now Cheltenham Connect seems to have become rather well established on various fronts. You always wonder how long the enthusiasm of volunteers for any given cause will maintain itself. The best thing you can hope to be able to say is that if it didn't exist you'd have to invent it. Might that not now just be the case with Cheltenham Connect?

Royal address

2011-12-02T21:30:00.000Z

‘Spirituality and the Earth Community: Responding to the Spiritual Challenges Facing People and Planet’. This was former Professor Ursula King’s theme for her Cheltenham lecture last evening. It deserved to be better attended. Possibly the title was what put people off, for after a somewhat analytical start, she took off in the latter part of her talk, and ended with several almost impassioned responses to audience questions. Not for a long time have I heard such a free thinker, open to so many differently stimulating channels of thought! “I was mighty impressed,” as a friend put it.

Amongst challenging questions Professor King herself raised were, “Are modern societies predominantly secular?” (Answer: “Pace Richard Dawkins, no.”) “Does spirituality only concern the needs of the individual?” (Answer: “Again, no.”) And, echoing Indira Gandhi at Stockholm almost 40 years ago, “Will the growing awareness of ‘one earth' and ‘one environment' guide us to the concept of ‘one humanity'?” (Answer: “We must sincerely hope so, notwithstanding the signal lack of progress to date!”) Finally, and she gave no answer to this, leaving us each to take up the quest for a response ourselves: “How do we live a good life?”

Water +

2011-12-01T11:27:00.001Z

"We've had the driest 12 months on record," said Jim Naughtie on the Today programme this morning. This chimes in with something even more disturbing that Nick Reeves, Executive Director of The Chartered Institution of Water and Environmental Management, wrote recently. (It came to mind following yesterday's visit to Leicester.)

“While we have been making headway in cleaning up our rivers and beaches, the air we breathe and the water we drink . . . we have created trashy inner city settlements where the poor, the vulnerable, the hopeless and the unhinged have been kettled into urban breezeblock ghettoes that have become a breeding ground for disaffection, anger and feral behaviour . . . These rotten environments turn on its head the notion of sustainable development. Sustainability is about much more than water and energy efficiency, insulation and recycling. The human dimension somehow got forgotten. The environment is about the condition in which we all live together, not just the well-connected, the empowered middle class and those with sharp elbows and loud voices.”

I took this photograph of the sluice on the 37-hectare Retenue de Brousseau in Les Landes when walking on the Voie du Puy in April 2009.

Leicester

2011-11-30T21:37:00.004Z

A 3rd cousin (once removed) invited me to Leicester today, the first time I'd been there, so far as I can recall. I don't count passing through on the train. It's not a difficult journey by rail, though New Street seems to get busier each time I change there: there was only three minutes to catch the Cheltenham connection this evening, and I had to fight my way from one end of the station to the other. (Perhaps it was all those striking public service employees, taking advantage of a day off work to go somewhere...)

My cousin, having worked in Leicester for many years, knew all about the long-term successes in race relations there, a tribute to much patience and perseverance. We passed the brand new BAPS Shri Swaminarayan Mandir, on Gipsy Lane, opened only last month to great fanfares. Local residents regard it as a great improvement on the old factory that formerly stood on this prominent site. Its building (total cost £3m) took three years and much voluntary effort.

The visit enabled me to catch a glimpse of a set of photograph albums, put together by earlier generations: they fill a number of gaps in my knowledge of the family tree. I rather wish I'd known about them when researching pictures for The Diary of a Shropshire Farmer last year. Even leaving aside any genealogical interest, some of the photography is quite remarkable, and I was delighted to hear that the collection might end up in the Shropshire Archives.

Another pair of third cousins, twins, turns out to have been a teenage song and dance act that transformed itself into a business making bikinis in Florida - shortly after the days they were illegal. It thrives, so I was told in Leicester.

A pity I didn't get a photograph of the two pure white doves that fluttered around my cousin's garden: he and his wife keep a dovecote, perhaps an unusual feature on a housing estate.

Bean counters

2011-11-29T22:06:00.001Z

Our runner bean plants have never been so prolific! Not only did they crop plentifully over a long period, but there are still lots left for next year's seed and the stewpot. Agnes and Ida were pressed into service to save them today, whilst I dug up the dahlias and gathered yet more apples. (Ida taking a break from her current favourite game, "Pretend...")

Wraith willow

2011-11-27T21:47:00.018Z

In this morning's bright sunshine, the trees along Coldwell Bottom took on a ghostly appearance. I often walk there, because it's peaceful, apart from the kennels over the hill, and the valley's appearance changes so much depending on the season. And it's a good way to work up an appetite when there's venison for lunch.

Stroud

2011-11-26T21:20:00.053Z

We don't often go to Stroud, though it's only a dozen miles down the road. Today was my first visit to its celebrated Saturday market. We were too late getting there to sample it properly: this was because we had first been walking in Woodchester Park, then visiting Selsley Church on our way back.

It wasn't at all a bad day for walking, dry and windless for the most part. Our walk ended at the big, gaunt, never finished house, which wasn't open: peering through the windows you can still get a good idea of its astonishingly elaborate Victorian Gothic stonework. The three of us agreed it was a strange place to build such a pile, on the bottom of a narrow valley.

The churchyard at Selsley by contrast has one of the best views of any I know. And a complete set of Pre-Raphaelite stained glass atones for the rather dull church building - of much the same era (and ilk) as Woodchester Mansion. As you can see from the photograph, the Stroud street scene is somewhat different.

Gateley

2011-11-24T09:15:00.000Z

My cousin, "young" Martin has alerted me to the change of name of our family firm of solicitors: founded by my great-grandfather, Stephen Gateley, it became Stephen Gateley & Sons when his two sons qualified and joined the practice. My cousin "young" Stephen steered the firm into its first major merger, it being renamed Gateley Wareing. Subsequent amalgamations made it HBJ Gateley Wareing, but a new look was announced in May apparently: from that time, it's just been "Gateley".

Now with some 800 employees, its look and feel differs rather from the days 60-odd years ago when I used to visit my grandfather in his Temple Row office, with clerks sitting on high stools dipping their pens. 13/4d was a fairly standard charge, I seem to recall, less than it now costs to post a large letter.

Transition Festival

2011-11-23T22:39:00.002Z

Today, a week-long Transition Town Cheltenham residency began at our local Gardens Gallery. The different action groups each had a display.

This morning, I took along various photographs for the Heart & Soul board: we went back this evening, for the opening party, and admired all the work that had been put in to enliven the building. We learnt that 80 people had been through the Gallery during the first day. The question is, for how many of them was "transition" a new concept?

Heart & Soul have an open space session as part of the Festival from 5 to 6.30pm next Sunday 27th November - "Faith in Transition: what do faith communities have to offer?" At a time when one or two church leaders are questioning the science upon which Transition is founded, it seems to me more than ever important that Christians should witness - alongside other people of faith - to what their belief in creation implies.

Autumn (still)

2011-11-22T23:30:00.000Z

It was six weeks ago that I posted signs of Autumn colouring - at Westonbirt. With the mild weather we've had, it still seems - from the trees in our garden - to be Autumn even now in late November. Roses are blooming: snapdragon and geranium phaeum are still in flower. Meanwhile, the Christmas lights are on and the Promenade is full of tawdry German Marketeers. One of them pointed out a bat yesterday, asleep on the tree trunk just behind his hut.

The Film Society offering this evening was Patagonia, with great landscape photography veering between Argentina in the Autumn and Wales in Springtime: it brought to mind the visual shock I experienced at this time of year in 2003, flying away from our soft Autumnal colours in order to land amidst vibrant reds and blues in South Island, New Zealand.

Smiley Old Miley

2011-11-21T22:04:00.075Z

We are sad to have heard of the death last week of Miles Curtis Hayward. Though Miles had been ill for ages, I still couldn't believe he was 82: he seemed the eternal schoolboy, ever-lovable. R.I.P.

Resigned

2011-11-19T21:41:00.025Z

Since we last walked by the ghost-like barns at Wontley, just below Cleeve Common, a rash of signs has appeared, making this look like the Spaghetti Junction of the local footpath network. Nevertheless, stepping out with friends visiting yesterday from Brixton, we saw not a soul.

It was a good spin, from West Down, via Wontley to the windswept tree on top of the Common; but too much for our dog, Rosie. We had to leave Caroline with her by the masts, and come round with the car later. (Caroline fears she is not long for this world.)

From Brixton Market, we were presented with a pomegranate, two each of custard apples, Sharon fruits, prickly pears and plantains, and a mango!

Elcombe

2011-11-18T21:19:00.032Z

On Wednesday, we walked with friends above the Slad Valley, starting and ending at the tucked-away hamlet of Elcombe. The landscape had a Tolkein-like feel to it, woods and fields being shrouded in mist: all very different from our last visit in sunny April a couple of years ago.

We passed artist-blacksmith Alan Evans' cottage en route, admiring his innovative stainless steel swing gates as we passed by. The once-controversial grille over the entrance to Cheltenham Art Gallery and Museum is his work.

Walking down Swift's Hill, the view (on a clear day) is stupendous, but I wouldn't want to live on the side of so steep a valley.

GOGG

2011-11-17T11:33:00.002Z

There was a seed exchange at the latest Gloucestershire Organic Gardening Group's meeting at Whiteway Colony Hall: I forgot to take the ones I'd set aside, but nevertheless came back with full pockets.

Local orchardist, Martin Hayes was the speaker, though it was not so much a lecture, more a tasting - of a wide variety of apple juices, not to mention cider and perry - with aphorisms.

Martin's enthusiasm, born of 38 years' experience, is palpable. He describes vividly his falling out with an early boss (still alive "because well-pickled by spray"), and meeting two long-term partners in an orchard, "by one of whom I had a lovely daughter". "Don't spray," he urged us, "or you'll never stop. If there's a maggot in there, it proves it's a nice apple. There's always juicing." And "Yes, I do hug trees, but only to measure their age. After all, perry pears flourish for 300 years." Why does Gloucestershire have so many perry orchards - or used to? "Because God went to the top of May Hill, took a bite of a perry pear, and spat it out."

HB2

2011-11-16T21:25:00.001Z

The photographer Henrietta Butler has moved to live near Cheltenham in recent years. Yesterday, she kindly gave me some of her time (and the benefit of her considerable experience). Nothing is more enjoyable than talking to an expert in what is purported to be one's own field!

Henrietta's one-off photobook - made up of her portraits of performing and other artists over the years, taken mainly for the Guardian - puts my efforts in that line to shame. Extraordinary that she has yet to find a "proper" publisher for it! "Too old fashioned!", she calls it.

Talking with her made me think of the importance of knowing what one's aiming for. "Free range photography" is all very well: targeted photography might get me further in the long run.

HB1

2011-11-15T20:50:00.004Z

Helen Brown, who has just died aged 99, was, with her husband Watty and daughter Prue, one of our closest neighbours when my parents arrived to live in Wootton Wawen, shortly after I was born. That she was a fine-looking woman can easily be seen from this photograph, taken by my father (I guess) on my first birthday, eight days before D-Day: that's her in the centre of the back row.

There was something wonderfully sophisticated about Helen, which it's hard to put a finger on: perhaps it was her skill as a raconteur (with mordant sense of humour), and her penchant for a cigarette, not to mention gin. I loved it when her eyes creased into a smile, as they did so very frequently. The Priory was accordingly a happy house to visit, as was the Browns' subsequent rather grander manor house near Worcester. There I remember once counting the leaves on a pineapple.

After Watty's death, Helen moved to her beloved Cornwall, her new home barely a 3-iron from the golf course at Trevose. I looked for it when we were staying at Mother Ivey's one Summer (1997). Arriving unshaven at the Constantine Bay Stores, I enquired of the proprietor exactly where the bungalow was. No response: she clearly looked upon me as a potential mugger or worse. Luckily Helen drove up just then in her battered Fiesta, claiming me for an old friend - "whose pram I used to push". Cue for another infectious chuckle.

Now we are 4

2011-11-14T19:00:00.018Z

Our youngest grandchild, Laurie, celebrated his birthday yesterday with a chocolate-covered cake filled with blackberry and apple, and a Scalectrix to amuse himself with. (It was good fun for the adults too.) Roary the Racing Car also put in an appearance, but only after Laurie had been persuaded that the recycled wine box in which it arrived might contain something more interesting than... wine.

Walking

2011-11-13T22:16:00.000Z

Yesterday was one of our regular - if infrequent - social walking days, and gloriously warm it was for it. We met up at Elkstone, looked round the beautiful church - new to some of us - and then set off down the hidden valley towards Combend: though you are less than a mile from the A417, you can't hear a sound apart from birdsong. Turning up left, we reached the ridge road. After a look down into and across the Churn Valley, we turned back towards the cars. A short walk, not too muddy, and perfect for whetting the lunchtime appetite.

"The Wild Bride"

2011-11-12T21:19:00.001Z

Last evening I paid my first visit to the recently-reopened Cheltenham Everyman Theatre. In the auditorium, things look great: the original Frank Matcham decoration sparkles from loving refurbishment. The foyer by contrast looks dire, with its new 50s-style carpet. Whoever did they get to advise on this?

The Cornish-based (but internationally-constituted) touring company, Kneehigh took away all painful thoughts, however, with a brilliant new fairy-tale show, "The Wild Bride": I enjoyed it even more than their famous "Brief Encounter". The synopsis promised not nearly so much as the performance delivered, which was epic theatre, but on a boutique scale. A sextet of performers conjured up images which played upon all the emotions: at times, you couldn't believe how things could happily be resolved for this latter day Mother Courage; and all the while, she - there were three of them - and her trio of male accomplices animated, sang, danced, somersaulted and played a variety of instruments (Patrycja Kujawska's violin standing out). A tour de force, and how criminal that there were empty seats!

Corduroy etc.

2011-11-11T10:49:00.000Z

An email came in overnight from Canadian cousins, who go to great lengths, it seems, to commemorate Armistice Day. Good for them. It's easy to forget. Today's picture combines the red and black of my poppy - in verticals, to mark, in addition, the moment of the day that most resembles corduroy, as the clock moves from 11:11:11:11:00:00 to 11:11:11:11:11.11.

It was three years ago that the Guardian offered readers the chance to download an original Keith Tyson History Picture. This is "mine". Each work consists of a unique randomly-generated sequence of vertical stripes in red, black and green - the roulette colours. Every image has its own title, based on the geographical location of the user: hence "Cheltenham" at the bottom left.

Ahead of the offer, Keith wrote that his computer "will generate a sequence of the numbers one to 32 which relates to the roulette wheel. Each number has an assigned colour. If you hit the jackpot, you'll come away with an entirely green work. But the chances of that happening are 1 in 37 x 37 x 37, 49 times." Even I, who am red/green colour-blind, can see this is not a jackpot that I've won. But the consolations are that Caroline remembered it's St Martin's Day, and I've been asked out to lunch by an old friend!

Carducci Quartet

2011-11-09T23:35:00.002Z

My enthusiasm for this still-young quartet (led by Matthew Denton) has been voiced before, and it's none the less intense following this evening's performance at Dean Close School, where they have been "in residence" since the beginning of the year. Drab decor and distracting piles of scores in the background of the Prince Michael Hall couldn't take away from a vibrant performance - of what was a challenging programme.

It began with a quartet by Philip Glass: it had been described, Matthew said, as Rock music for Buddhists. The opening movement of this, his 4th Quartet rocked, but more in the sense of a lullaby - as if Bach might have been looking over the composer's shoulder. The real rock music came after the interval, with the Allegretto furioso of Shostakovich's 10th Quartet.

In between, we heard a couple of minimalist jewels (Kurtág and Webern), and a surprisingly enjoyable work, inspired by Australian birdsong, by David Matthews: he was there to introduce it himself, whistling us a preview of each of the motifs. I liked the idea of the Australian cuckoo singing the same interval as ours, but upside down. And particularly appropriate to hear this piece at a time of year when our garden is more or less a song-free zone.

Leopold/Wolfgang, Fanny/Felix, and Colin/David. I can't think of many other musical family pairs apart from these three Ms, Mozart, Mendelssohn - and Matthews.

"Hope for Creation"?

2011-11-06T16:53:00.002Z

Two years ago, we were all getting very excited in the run-up to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change at Copenhagen. Its perceived failure was a big disappointment. Now, we are barely three weeks away from the start of this year's equivalent COP - 17 - to be held in Durban: nobody seems to be holding their breath, but that doesn't mean to say people shouldn't be praying for a positive outcome this time round. And that's the purpose of Hope for Creation, a day of prayer - today - for action on climate change: Christians in 60 countries around the world have signed up.

Right on cue, I read yesterday of both good news and bad news: the latter first - a record rise in greenhouse gas emissions is reported, putting global warming ahead of the worst-case scenarios envisaged by scientists.

And the good news? China's lightbulb moment. Incandescent bulbs are being phased out in the Peoples' Republic over a five-year period, which is more than the US is committed to.

I photographed this fennel head just over a week ago: it has self-seeded in amongst the carrots.

"A celebration of Shropshire agriculture"

2011-11-05T21:20:00.000Z

Paul Dobraszczyk, Andy Wigley, James Bowen, Douglas Grounds, Pamela Sambrook and I were the speakers at this rather interesting day meeting, organised by the Shropshire and Marches Georgian Group. I spoke first, about The Diary of a Shropshire Farmer: it must have been pretty well-received, as I only came back with one copy of the book left unsold. We stayed with friends a little way South of Culmington Village Hall, where the event took place: as we were going to be rather early arriving, we made a minor detour up the lane from the A49 in Bromfield, to take a look at King's Head Farm. The Diarist lived there throughout the 1850s, and indeed my great-grandfather was born there. The place looks a bit desolate today. Culmington village is a surprise: at first you think it must be all along the main road, but tucked away to the East are a number of black and white houses and farm buildings, together with a curious church (All Saints), with Saxon origins clearly visible and a Kempe-like St Michael in one of the South Nave windows. We left before the end, to travel home mainly by daylight, and were rewarded by a remarkable sunset over Ludlow.

1st November: déjeuner sur l'herbe

2011-11-01T17:25:00.001Z

Well, this one was taken in August, but we were outside again for lunch today, albeit wearing jerseys. Just a few Wallace and Gromit-like clouds (Caroline's description) hovered far above. One might as well make the most of this Indian Summer. After lunch, we picked more of our huge crop of Bramleys, some for storing under the stairs, some for juicing. The tree still looks laden: how many of Earth's - now 7 billion - people would cry for joy at having a few!

The Green Pilgrimage Network

2011-10-31T11:15:00.003Z

Whilst tent-dwellers were Occupy-ing the space to the West of St Paul's Cathedral, the Archbishop of Canterbury was praying alongside Pope Benedict and other faith leaders in Assisi last week. And from tomorrow Assisi hosts another inter-faith gathering of importance, to launch the first global network aimed at "greening" pilgrimages. Mary Colwell writes about it in the current issue of The Tablet.

Some will ask, why the need for "greening"? Surely pilgrim walkers inherently proclaim a green gospel, rejoicing in nature as they go - this magnificent beech might easily have escaped my attention had I been car-borne along the little road from Upper Coberley to Hilcot on Friday. But then of course not all pilgrims are walkers or cyclists: many indeed jet to faraway destinations to give themselves the warm glow so many get from worshiping at a sacred place. Indeed, I have campaigned in the past for more virtual pilgrimages.

Mary's final sentence sets out a - for me, unfamiliar - quote from St Francis: "There is no use walking to somewhere to preach if your walking is not your preaching." And there was I thinking the expression "Walking the talk" was a recent invention!

A deep, autumnal tone

2011-10-29T11:09:00.001+01:00

The garden is full of it just now: here is Caroline's rhubarb, a different beast altogether from its Spring green hiding pink. Not that the wild West Wind has yet made much impression on the hornbeam and beech hedging. The beans too are still vaguely upright, with much fruit still hanging there, too coarse to slice, but the seeds ready for drying after time. I harvested the little nasturtium balls last week, a very easy crop to garner for sowing again next Summer. Its dark red flowers remain for the moment unfrosted. This mild weather has brought the lilac and weigela into flower even. Meanwhile my mother's two box bushes are home to dozens of spiders, their webs criss-crossing like the work of some crazy electrician, and all bejewelled by dew.

Christmas cake-making

2011-10-27T21:50:00.001+01:00

Though we are still a month away from Stir-up Sunday, Caroline took advantage of some willing helpers to start making the cake for Christmas this afternoon. Our grandsons are with us for some of their half-term, and it was wet outside. So good for one to be addressed as "You silly banana!" by a three-year-old whom you love!

For the cake, some sweet sherry was called for: we have none, so the remains of an old bottle of Buckfast Tonic Wine, given me by someone from Buckfast when we once met at Stanbrook, went in instead. That gift must have been almost ten years ago: does Bucky ever go off? I think we shall probably live to tell the tale.

Happy birthday John Golding!

2011-10-26T21:04:00.000+01:00

In recent years, the distinguished artist and art historian John Golding has been wont to celebrate his birthday at a lunch in these parts, for which purpose his good neighbour Sophie Bowness has driven him down from London. Today's line-up, gathered for the occasion, was an eclectic mix of former pupils, colleagues and friends: we all enjoyed a drive there through the Autumn sunshine, the trees being now fully on the turn; but alas upon arrival we were told that it was a case of Hamlet without the Prince. John is unwell. A toast was proposed to an absent friend.

In her empty passenger seat, Sophie brought with her a copy of the elegant and comprehensive book she has edited, "Barbara Hepworth: The Plasters", published by Lund Humphries in April to coincide with the opening of the new Hepworth Wakefield museum of which she is a trustee. I was surprised to read in it that, in spite of one of her last major works being Theme and Variations, a three-part bronze relief for the façade of the Cheltenham & Gloucester Building Society Head Office, Hepworth never visited Cheltenham either to see its proposed location or after installation.

The Piano Tuner

2011-10-24T17:17:00.001+01:00

Peter Newham has been tuning our piano ever since we acquired it - is that nearly 30 years ago? Before then even, I had encountered him when he and his wife first came to live here, wanting legal advice. "You are the first person in Cheltenham I met," he told me this morning. Like Somerset Maugham and W.H. Auden, he has one of those faces, which portrays character with no prospect of masking it. It's as if the sensitivity of his ear has transferred itself, Dorian Gray-like, to his visage.

Peter has strong views on planning. "Why can't our planners go and look at the Plaza Major in Salamanca before deciding on a glass and steel look for the new square in North Place?" To my enquiry, whether he's a member of our Civic Society, however, he replies, as I anticipated, "I'm not a joiner."

Our old upright is in the dining-room, the walls of which are now covered with Tetbury Festival photographs: he has stories, of course, about many of the musicians featured in them. But also he is the first person to liken my Douro Valley railway shot to something out of an old movie, and wants to hear the story behind my Gersois tobacco pickers tableau. "The trouble with both my pianos [he has made two] and your photographs, Martin, is that, inexplicably, nobody wants to buy them."

I enquire after his tricky back: he illustrates his clean bill of health since his last visit here with tales of riding horses in Szechuan amongst Buddhist Tibetan nomads and Muslim Hui Chinese.

An hour with Peter does the soul good.

Dress 4 a birthday

2011-10-23T16:33:00.000+01:00

Ida paid us a brief visit on her birthday (on Friday) - too brief for cakes and balloons. Celebrations were planned for when she reached London, I gather. She was wearing her usual heady mixture of clothing, chosen by herself. Pink is as ever the colour of choice. I thought my cap might add to the look, but it's here in the course of being rejected.

What would her great-grandmother (my mother) have said about her outfit, I wondered: she was modelling clothes for The Daily Telegraph when aged over 80. Will there be newspapers to model for if and when Ida is 80? I doubt it. Even now, the idea of reading news in paper format attracts only a minority. I am happy to be part of it, but none of my children buy a paper regularly, so far as I know.

The Churn Valley

2011-10-22T06:17:00.001+01:00

On Thursday morning, instead of my usual walk up the old track from Coberley towards Birdlip (shown in this photograph running from centre to bottom right), I found myself going round the edge of the big field to its North. This opens up a slightly different view. A long line of lime trees guards the field's road boundary, with Coberley village nestling in the trees beyond. Straggly Upper Coberley hides likewise in trees on the far side of the main Churn Valley. The two prehistoric tumps (just left of centre) look no older than the rusting farm machinery I passed in their lee. Beyond Coldwell Bottom, Bubb's Hill - in Elkstone Parish - presides on the right horizon. Behind me, hawthorn berries gleam in the sunshine, the Rosebay Willowherb - though no longer in flower - retains the attraction of its russet stems, and the Old Man's Beard shows promise for later on, when Autumn's colours have drained away. Unsurprisingly for October, I heard not a single bird.

National Apple Day

2011-10-21T22:37:00.000+01:00

That excellent organisation Common Ground introduced National Apple Day two decades or so ago, in order to celebrate apple orchards, which add much to the distinctiveness of a place. We are lucky enough to have inherited three old (and two rather less old) apple trees of different varieties in our back garden: they give us and others much pleasure, providing us with blossom, shade, support for our climbing Iceberg roses and our hammock swings, not to mention fruit and so juice etc. etc.

Yesterday, I was up a ladder picking some of the Bramleys for storage, and in so doing dispossessing many earwigs.

Sounds Good

2011-10-20T22:02:00.000+01:00

Independent record shops are, I guess, as rare these days as independent bookshops. We are lucky to have a good one, in Henrietta Street, just off Cheltenham's lower High Street. As with all such shops, you go there as much for the advice and a chat as anything else: it's a totally different experience from shopping via Amazon.

And yet Sounds Good does 20% of its business by mail order, some with people who have never been to the shop. "Was it full during the LitFest?" I asked. "No, but we had a busy morning last Saturday - with people coming to Cheltenham for the Races." That surprised me somewhat!

I have to admit I don't very often shop there, pleasant though the experience is. What with Radio 3 and Listen Again, I don't often buy music; and I have a couple of shelves full of rarely-played CDs. Yesterday, however, I was looking for (and found) a classical ballet DVD for our granddaughter Ida, whose 4th birthday it is tomorrow: she's smitten.

Dog duty

2011-10-19T22:12:00.000+01:00

Caroline is in Majorca (only for the inside of this week, thank goodness!) and so I am on dog-walking duty. And in charge of chickens too - rather less arduous.

Today, I chose to drive to Crippets Lane and, from there, walk below Leckhampton Hill. The wind was less fierce than earlier in the week, and the bright sunshine made it a perfect Autumn's day. I came back, planted garlic in the vegetable garden, and prepared for the broad beans and onion sets (purchased yesterday at Dundry Nurseries) to go in tomorrow. There's a frost forecast for tonight, so I brought some of the geraniums into the lean-to conservatory. You can't hope to save them all unless you have a greenhouse heater (which we don't).

Fr. Charles will be pleased about Arsenal's extra time win in France!

The book is launched!

2011-10-15T22:50:00.003+01:00

"The Diary of a Shropshire Farmer: A Young Yeoman’s Life and Travels 1835-37" was officially launched today: I billed the invitation, Cheltenham Festival of Literature, Salon des Refusés, because my suggestion to Director Sarah Smyth that the book be featured in this year's Festival fell upon deaf ears. (Notwithstanding, he adds bitterly, it chimed with two of the Festival's themes, Legacy and Locally Sourced.)

Ah well! It didn't stop us having a great all-day party at home, with some 50 people dropping in, and more than 40 copies of the book signed and sold. It undoubtedly helped that we were able to handle the original texts, brought over for the occasion by cousin Bruce from New Brunswick, and also to see the original oil painting of the Peter Davis-bred Bull ("that bovine BMW" as cousin Susannah terms it).

Though family history retains its attractions even after all the hard work has been completed, its real dividend is the variety of living characters it throws up. Or, as Tolstoy wrote, The leaves of a tree delight us more than the roots.

"The Great Food Debate"

2011-10-14T19:17:00.002+01:00

We were kindly invited to this Cheltenham Literature Festival event by its sponsors, the SKGR Project; so it ill behoves me to speak ill of it. However, I'm bound to say I found the short hour all rather disappointing. Too many hares were set up and left unchased.

Jonathon Porritt was in the chair, the others on the stage being journalist/food writer Felicity Lawrence and Colin Tudge, promoter of the Campaign for Real Farming, originally a biologist. My frustration stemmed from the lack of any proper debate upon the platform; and from Jonathon's failure to pin the others down in answer to some quite sensible questions, including a couple from pupils of Cheltenham Ladies' College: it didn't help that in his usual way he took three questions at a time. So, we heard no argument as to how prices would remain stable following a transition to a more extensive (and organic) agriculture; and little response to a question about the effect of climate change on food supplies.

Afterwards, I overheard Jonathon saying that he had to put a zip on his mouth; but - I wanted to ask - for heaven's sake, why?

Fr. Charles, an Arsenal fan

2011-10-13T19:31:00.000+01:00

On Tuesday evening, the parish said goodbye to its assistant priest, Fr. Tom Smith, who is off to a parish of his own - Warminster. Helping out here in Cheltenham for six weeks, we have a priest from Northern Uganda, Fr. Charles Ohuro. I went round to see him yesterday afternoon.

What a contrast for him, between Cheltenham and his home town on the banks of the Nile, a big game reserve only a stone's throw away and hurricane lamps providing the only light after dark. Fr. Charles is chaplain in a secondary school, founded by Italian missionaries. Priests have no stipends, but subsist on gifts in kind. They walk or bicycle round their parishes: he hopes to go back with a motor cycle, to reduce the time spent in travelling round the village primary schools which feed into his own school.

Whereas vocations in this country are insufficient to compensate for the priests who reach retirement age, in Fr. Charles' diocese, there are over 30 seminarians. With five children constituting a small family, parents are willing if not eager to offer one of their sons for God's service.

Job done

2011-10-12T22:09:00.001+01:00

The oldest building in Cheltenham, St Mary's, is hosting a Festival of the Book in parallel to the LitFest. An exhibition in the South Aisle chapel commemorates the 400th anniversary of the King James Bible, from which readings are being made from lecterns in the nave, day by day by teams from 16 of Cheltenham's many churches. Yesterday morning, it was my turn (with three others) to tackle the Book of Job.

I've always found it rather forbidding, but read aloud Job makes much better sense, and aren't there some wonderful phrases! "God forbid!" "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away." "The sparks fly upward." "The skin of my teeth." "The root of the matter." "Gird up now thy loins..."

It was with some reluctance that I went along after breakfast, but from the moment that my bicycle and I were ushered into the church by smiling stewards, I became glad I had made the effort.

Just like the old days

2011-10-11T21:23:00.004+01:00

Richard Cohen and Shelagh Hancox were chatting in Montpellier Gardens as I walked by this lunchtime. It was good to catch up with Richard again. In the years when he directed our Festival of Literature, it was indisputedly true to its name: Joseph Heller, Kurt Vonnegut, E.L. Doctorow, Allen Ginsberg - they all featured in Cheltenham one glorious year under his aegis. And Shelagh's husband Alan Hancox (a seminal former Director) would then still hold court in his book-lined Prom basement treasure trove, and at home in Gratton Road till a late hour.

There are a few worthwhile events even in this year's juggernaut bookfest: I had just been to an interesting talk by Susie Harries on Nicklaus Pevsner, "Englishness, of course". How on earth did he manage to produce his 46-volume Buildings of England series, on top of teaching at Cambridge and Birkbeck? One of the answers was by not stopping for lunch: we learnt that he would set off early on a Monday morning from London with a week's worth of sandwiches.

Pevsner was fond of those familiar words of Whitman: "Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes.” And Susie Harries' lecture made you understand why.

Cooking two Nights

2011-10-10T20:50:00.047+01:00

Having bemoaned the likely lack of culinary trade for Cheltenham town centre eateries during this year's Literary Festival, I have to report that excellent fare is available in the tented Feastfest Food Hall in Montpellier Gardens. Rosemary and Eva Nightingale were this lunchtime deservedly doing a roaring trade, and what I ate from their stall was quite delicious! (This is not a foodoir, so I will spare you the details: anyway the menu changes by the day.)

Nice music, shame about the sales

2011-10-09T22:19:00.013+01:00

Five wonderful concerts have been given in Tetbury church during this year's festival. Music by Schubert (Paul Lewis), Bach (Jonathan Cohen's Arcangelo consort) and Victoria (The Sixteen). And hotchpots on Saturday from the Elias String Quartet (in the morning) and Steven Isserlis with Dénes Várjon (in the evening). For me, perhaps the highlight was the quartet's performance of Haydn Opus 64, No. 6, but any such choice is invidious. The standard was uniformly exceptional: it was a great privilege to hear so many fine musicians in such lovely surroundings. And what a great programme book!

By contrast, my exhibition was a flop. People came, yes: indeed it was a highly sociable weekend. However, sales at the Gallery were few, and certainly mine were far from enabling me to meet my framing and mounting costs. As I have always said, people in England just don't seem to buy photographs for display; or is it just mine? Certainly, the punters this weekend were mostly of that age when they might be thought to have already lined their walls, which is why so often over these past four days one heard the excuse, "But I don't have room for any more!"

Westonbirt

2011-10-08T23:11:00.006+01:00

The National Arboretum may not be quite at its golden best, but it still made a pleasant diversion this afternoon, between Tetbury Festival concerts. The main drag was heavy with people, but there's plenty of scope for escaping the crowd, and getting a little lost on one or other of the lesser used tracks. There are after all 17 miles of them. The sun peeped through for some of the time, and the drizzle only started just as we drove away out of the car park.

Earlier, I had been taken out to lunch at The Close, the first visit to that hotel since we stayed on our wedding night. Not wanting to offend my hosts, I can't nevertheless say I'd go again just for the food.

Cheltenham Festival of Literature

2011-10-07T12:40:00.004+01:00

The Festival - it starts today - has taken a giant leap forward: not only Imperial Gardens, but Montpellier Gardens too has this year become a tented city for the duration. Indeed, the construction process began weeks ago, causing noise and traffic sufficient to upset everyone within a wide radius no doubt. Pity those who have hired the Gardens Gallery during those weeks! Indeed, the Gallery isn't even marked on the Festival map!

My lack of sympathy for the scale of this hyper-festival has been made plain in previous years: expansion into Montpellier runs parallel with withdrawal from the Everyman Theatre and the Parabola Arts Centre. What will hostelries and shops near those two sites make of the non-passing trade? This morning, I toured the campuses on my bike: the only people I saw around were yellow-coated security guards and minions from sponsors such as The Times and Sky. Coming away, I saw an elderly gentleman emerge from a car and fiddle with his pipe: Tony Benn it was, taller than I expected. (Though he didn't refuse to have his photograph taken, he seemed a little taken aback with the speed at which I produced my camera.)

Steve Jobs iRP

2011-10-06T12:33:00.000+01:00

I have never had an Apple, but Thomas swears by them, and Jobs was by all acocounts a great innovator. Beyond this, however, he was clearly a brave man, struggling to continue work even when seriously ill. This side of him seems to me to have been unjustly neglected, or perhaps I don't read the right newspapers (or - more likely - blogs/tweets).

Will we ever be content to say "Apps - we have enough! Job(s) done"?

Tetbury Music Festival

2011-10-05T23:43:00.011+01:00

Last year’s festival at Tetbury took place during a freeranger downtime:this is the back story. I was asked by its Directors to take photographs during the 2010 festival that could be exhibited this year in the little gallery (once a pub) along the road from the church, used for festival exhibitions in recent years. This turned out to be something of a challenge: clearly the visual artist-in-residence was deemed in some significant eyes as of very secondary importance. I was put in my place more than once, and that place was not such a comfortable one to find oneself in.

However, a body of work emerged, and tonight it’s being hung in the gallery – a dozen or so framed photographs and more than twice as many mounted. I wonder how many will be sold during the next four days? Oh, and there’s another photobook too, which I have published via the reliable Blurb once more: the above shows the front cover.

"Earthquakes in London"

2011-10-04T23:53:00.010+01:00

The joint National Theatre/Headlong production of Mike Bartlett’s 2010 South Bank success is now on tour: we drove to Malvern this evening to catch it, suckers for anything to do with climate change. Rupert Goold’s energetic direction does wonders for what is ultimately not a very profound play. But it is rich entertainment, and may I suppose end up by preaching to others than the converted. At the interval, I found myself thinking of the dysfunctional family and its hangers on in terms of Chekhov somewhat speeded up. The ending however disappoints, resolving itself into sci fi fantasy. A guess at what might be the truth, Cormac McCarthy-like, would of course be far too painful for the punters. Bumping into friends there, we somehow sought to avoid any discussion of the substance of the play.

Welltown

2011-10-03T16:51:00.001+01:00

Today we turned our back on the West Country in order to drive home. What a glorious week of Indian Summer it’s been! We have spent these last three nights in the great comfort of Caroline’s cousin’s old house overlooking the Atlantic Ocean: their informal garden - tables and chairs covered with lichen - spills out onto fields full of sheep and Red Devon cattle, grazing right to the cliff top near Willapark. John, a naturalist to his fingertips, set a light trap on Saturday night which caught moths galore in the freak conditions. Old Fr. Storey is still the priest at St Paul’s Tintagel – as he was when I first came to Welltown with Caroline in 1976.

Addendum: We canvassed with John the possibility of having decided - as part of our carbon awareness - not to travel all the way down to Cornwall for Jeremy Faull's funeral. He responded later, by email:

Brooding about the challenges of remote understanding, I came across this stanza from Philip Larkin and his Going, Going poem of 1972:

And that will be England gone,
The shadows, the meadows, the lanes.
The guildhalls, the carved choirs.
There’ll be books; it will linger on
In galleries; but all that remains
For us will be concrete and tyres.

A different sort of distance, but it left me wondering, could we really have experienced St. Breock and its carved benches without being there?

Green memories

2011-10-02T23:01:00.007+01:00

We had long planned to be in Cornwall this weekend in order to visit Jeremy and Odile Faull, close friends of all our family over many years. Instead, the journey on Friday was for Jeremy’s funeral. More than 300 friends and wellwishers packed into St Breock’s Church for the service: Jeremy’s parish church, St Clement’s, Withiel (“Quite a large church,” according to Pevsner) wouldn’t have been big enough. It was a wonderful thanksgiving for the richest of lives. Local farmers and dignitaries rubbed shoulders with Parisian businessmen and all manner of Greens, golfing partners, artists, craftsmen, writers and bibliophiles.

This evening, we walked with Odile from her house in the valley up through the fields to the graveyard on the hillside. There, in the corner nearest home, Jeremy’s grave lies covered with flowers, with bean sticks on the village allotments as a backdrop. He will be smiling!

Boscastle

2011-10-01T17:55:00.002+01:00

Seven years ago, this village was devastated by flooding: you wouldn’t know it from seeing it now, particularly on an October afternoon with the thermometer showing record temperatures. The National Trust shop and coffee house – I ordered latte and was served cappuccino – also has an exhibition area, with a harrowing video sequence showing. The events that 16th August unfold grimly, cars and caravans swept over the main road bridge and out to sea, as if our grandchildren were playing with my old Dinky toys. It seems a miracle that no lives were lost.

Today Boscastle was en fête, exhibitions in all its public (and some private) buildings, and a vast food tent with cookery demonstrations by would-be celebrity chefs. We walked down into the village from the direction of Willapark coastguard station, the harbour entrance unfolding before us like a sequence from Pirates of the Caribbean. After lunch, sitting by the river (today, hardly more than a babbling brook), we struggled up the steep High Street to see Carole Vincent’s garden, with its curiously antiseptic concrete sculptures.

Goodbyeleigh

2011-09-30T09:02:00.012+01:00

Yesterday, on our last night at Goodleigh, the Russells took us out to eat at the village pub. The New Inn is just a short stroll down the hill, though a bit of a puff up again in the dark. Julia, mine hostess, handed us the menu: “It’s all made by my own fair hands. I’ll leave it with you so you can have a little thinkette.” An actress manqué.

I was sad to leave Anderton House, our bedroom with its Sheppey chair, Heals “Cogwheels” curtains and large bronze abstract relief that glows in the early morning sunlight. We could easily have stayed a full week – two even. There’s much to see and do in the surroundings, so many books worth reading in the Landmark library: I didn’t even finish the one I had brought with me, “Wolf Hall”. (Unlike for others we know and love, the Kindle hasn't yet fired our hearts.)

And the stars shine brightly at night.

Rosemoor

2011-09-29T15:47:00.006+01:00

I had no idea that there was another RHS garden on a par with Wisley in the West Country! The 65 acres of Rosemoor demands much more than the bare hour we spared it this morning. If it was too late in the year to see the shrub roses at their best, then the tropical border and veg both looked magnificent. As did some of the trees - this is a Prunus Serrula.

Nearby Torrington is a pretty town, with some fine buildings. Like Barnstaple and other West Country towns, it has a pannier market: just a few yards from its exit, you can join a path running high along the ridge of the Torridge valley with hardly a building in sight.

Croyde

2011-09-28T18:39:00.019+01:00

The heat wave continues - thank God, being that we are on holiday! I’ve surfed today at Croyde Bay, virtually the only one in the sea without a wetsuit. We went there once before for this purpose, a few years ago - 1997 in fact, en route for Cornwall. Today's surf wasn’t brilliant, and the tide was far out, but how lovely to taste salt, and to feel the sand beneath the feet and the warmth of the sea breeze! Not too many people there either, at this time of year. Even so, the lanes are a nightmare.

Anderton House

2011-09-27T13:13:00.011+01:00

Last September, with our friends, the Russells we spent a happy weekend at one of the Landmark Trust’s more ancient properties, Stogursey Castle. Yesterday afternoon our destination was Goodleigh near Barnstaple, to join the Russells at another Landmark: the Trust’s most recently-built property.

Anderton House was the result of a commission by the eponymous Anderton family from an architect friend, Peter Aldington, some forty years ago. The house is one of few of that period to be given a 2* Listing, and you can see why as soon as you enter the front door. A simple barn-like structure has been finished in such a way as to creature a magical blend of inside and out, floor-length plate glass windows giving out to a terrace and lawn overlooking the most peaceful of valleys. Altogether, it’s a very superior bungalow, as I hope my night-time photograph shows.

The split-level living area has – at its centre – a six foot square office with built-in desk where I am typing this: it’s known as the doghouse. A brilliant solution to complaints by the wife that she never sees her husband!

St Peter's, Tiverton

2011-09-26T18:53:00.004+01:00

We have been travelling South and West today, and - being a bit ahead of schedule - were able to make a short detour into Tiverton. Caroline used to shop there, and Simon Jenkins gives two stars to the parish church: its salient feature is a series of stone reliefs on the South side of the exterior, carved nearly 500 years ago and depicting sea-faring scenes. My photograph shows the astonishing degree of detail remaining in some of them, despite the effect of the weather: there’s even a seaman climbing up the rigging.

Walking amongst the churchyard trees, we disturbed a host of spiders’ webs.

49 years on

2011-09-25T12:44:00.000+01:00

The College Gaudy – which comes round once a decade or so – always brings back happy memories. I have no excuse for non-attendance, living only 40 miles away.

Oxford looks at its best in the September sunshine, particularly away from the crowds: University College’s lawns are like bowling greens and the front quad’s window boxes filled with late Summer colour. As an undergraduate, I had opened my first bank account with Barclays, at the branch just up the High from the college gate: Mr. Jenkinson was the manager – I briefly fancied his daughter, a nurse. I went into the bank building again yesterday afternoon, but this time for lunch with four others in my year: it’s now a restaurant.

At dinner in Hall, we numbered about 75, but prior to that we had been entertained to tea in the Master’s Lodgings, a lecture on the intellectual underpinning of Thatcherism, and evensong in Chapel. Before breakfast today I walked in Christ Church Meadow, down the Cherwell path to the Isis and back up the tree-lined avenue. Someone was busy at their laptop, sitting on a bench in front of the Meadow Building.

Seeing how I and so many of my contemporaries had prospered made me ask, was the currently proposed level of tuition fees so terribly unjust?

Stroud Coffehousing

2011-09-23T02:30:00.000+01:00

I have not been a member of any political party since resigning, in the 1980s, from the Ecology Party. The Stroud branch of what is now the Green Party organises monthly Coffee House Discussions: I was invited along this evening, to contribute (on behalf of Christian Ecology Link) to a discussion on what different faiths teach about the environment. The Star Anise Arts Café was packed.

My two-pennyworth was as follows: Christianity is centred upon the person of Jesus Christ, born 2,000 years ago in a Palestinian town on the West Bank. We believe that Jesus was the son of God, who created the universe and all it contains. Jesus gave us two commandments: love God (and therefore his creation), and love our human neighbours as we do ourselves (and therefore live in justice). One of Jesus’ early followers, Basil, an Armenian, wrote: “The bread you do not use is the bread of the hungry: the garment hanging in your wardrobe is the garment of the person who has no clothes: the shoes you do not wear are the shoes of the one who is barefoot.” All around us in the world today, we see the hungry and the destitute, more often than not victims of environmental neglect or unjust exploitation of the earth’s resources. Christians have the responsibility, therefore, to defend earth, water and air as gifts of creation that belong to everyone, and to protect mankind against self-destruction. Our tradition is to pray to God for strength, to see things as they really are; to judge what needs to be done, and to act in accordance with that judgment. As one of the oldest forms of our prayer is praise, I read – to conclude – Francis of Assisi’s Canticle of the Sun.

Seven others spoke. There was a presentation on behalf of Green Spirituality, “possibly not a faith at all”: its protagonist leads a monthly “no faith” service, usually attended by some two dozen “non-members”. A Celtic Druid was followed by a Shakamuni Buddhist. There was a Jewish doctor and Haroon from the Gloucester Mosque. One lady, a Quaker, assured us you don’t have to be a Christian to be a Friend; whilst another, a Bahai, spoke of consciousness, coherence, unity and cooperation. Tonight, she said, everyone is saying the same thing. Well, perhaps not quite, if you listen.

What's on

2011-09-21T22:48:00.001+01:00

The last seven days have involved a fair amount of sitting and watching. Last Thursday, the National Theatre's hit production of One Man, Two Guvnors came to us via Cineworld relay, a brilliant evening of comedy. You forget how exhilarating farce can be, when done well. Getting back late meant I had to catch up on Friday with the final episode of The Killing: Nordic noir couldn't be more of a contrast, yet this has been just as exhilarating in its own unique way. Dare I get immersed in the second series? It's at the extreme scary end of my spectrum.

Another contrast (on Sunday evening) was the opening episode of Series 2 of Downton Abbey. You don't want to like this, I find, but you can't help being won over; and that must be to the credit of Julian Fellowes, whom I can't say I know, but recall meeting more than 40 years ago: he had hair then (see photograph).

Finally, last night there was The Secret in their Eyes at our Film Society, another brilliant evening: it won the Oscar last year for best foreign-language film, which is no surprise considering its masterful script and combination of humour, romance and hair-raising suspense.

A new aesthetic

2011-09-21T22:10:00.000+01:00

I hosted a wrap-up this evening, for our Cheltenham Eco Homes open day the other Sunday. A good discussion took place between the owners of the various houses that opened up to the public. One reported a caveat she'd heard uttered by a visitor, that any "greening" of people's homes needed to be "tasteful", which seemed - in that instance - to preclude "ugly" panels fronting the road: these were perceived as lowering the tone, and therefore house prices in the area. But surely, said another at our meeting, what about TV aerials?Aren't panels the chimneys of the 21st Century? You hear people complaining about turbines being located between the Lake District and the Howgills: where have these complainants viewed them from? Why, the six-lane M6 Motorway, that scythes throught that beautiful terrain.

At home with the family

2011-09-18T15:40:00.000+01:00

Thomas making a rare visit from Portugal gave an opportunity for setting up my tripod and recalling how to work the camera's self-timer. Ten members of the family aren't together that often.

Jeremy Faull RIP

2011-09-15T18:33:00.003+01:00

The name Faull first became familiar to me in the 1960s: a new law firm had sprung up, Faull, Best & Knight. The trio was a breakaway from Theodore Goddard: Jeremy Faull - he was frank enough to admit in later years - was the one who asked for his name to be first, and so it came to pass. A decade or so later, the London solicitor turned himself into a Cornish farmer, immersing himself in local politics, and becoming the first Ecology Party County Councillor: Paul Tyler, now a Lib Dem peer, was the vanquished candidate. Retirement from farming gave Jeremy and his family the opportunity to make a more eco-friendly home for themselves over the road, a clever barn conversion, with the most beautiful view from its garden. And then there was the Wadebridge Bookshop, one of a dying breed, which he owned for many years, a great attraction to literary holidaymakers in North Cornwall: Jeremy presided there with quiet enthusiasm, making available to anyone in need his immense stock of knowledge and wise counsel. He truly loved life. Nobody quite matched his combination of sportsman, raconteur, bon viveur and radical thinker. He took the piss brilliantly too.

12 months ago, on our South Coast walk together, he was struggling for breath: that struggle intensified throughout this year, and today we heard the very sad news of his death. He, the most encouraging and constant friend anyone could hope to have, will be so very widely missed.

Time to dig again

2011-09-14T18:02:00.001+01:00

A couple of years ago, after a tricky negotiation, I edged the vegetable garden a bit further into the lawn: this week, I have been permitted to dig up a further 15 or so square yards of turf, in the quest for some sort of self-sufficiency. Now that I have the best part of the area of an allotment, it should be possible to run more of a rotation - rather than just squeezing a row of this and that in where there's space. Less to mow, also, as we now have fewer paths.