Chittlegrove

It rained most of the morning for our walk Westward towards Chedworth from Fosse Cross. It was a fairly flat one, but though the highest point is barely more than 220 metres above sea level, the views into Wiltshire and Oxfordshire on a clear day would have been far-reaching. As it was, we had to make do with a study of nature closer to hand - crops and wild flowers: there weren't many animals to be seen.

As I write this, I am listening to Radio 3. While the music may (and does) change night by night, "Live in Concert" is the catchphrase we have to endure again and again, whichever the announcer - and not just once, but several times every evening. An insult to the intelligence, I call it.

Appalling calling

Soon after leaving Whittington in the Coln Valley on this morning's walk across to the Churn, I passed this gateway into Sandywell Park. Sadly, little remains of that estate's grand past, as depicted by Kip 300 years ago: the house itself was converted into flats some time ago.

It was dry then, but this was the only photo-op. I had: the rain came down, continuing relentlessly till I reached my destination, the Colesbourne Inn. And as I set foot inside the front door, mine host appeared to say, "Sorry, no food: we've had a power cut."

On the ridge below St Paul's Epistle, Mark Vestey's boundary wall is under repair. Briefly, I joined the friendly man from Chedworth labouring away under his tarpaulin, placing stone on stone: though not nearly as elaborate a construction as at Sandywell, it seemed to bear out the truth of Pam Ayres' lines:

I am a dry-stone waller,
All day I dry-stone-wall,
Of all appalling callings,
Dry-stone-walling’s worst of all.

Up the Coln Valley

We drove through the mist to Arlington for the start of this morning's walk. A late start became later as the three of us - well, me actually (as I had the map) - couldn't find the way out of the village: the bonus was a glimpse of the tucked-away Baptist Chapel - 1833, "with windows with odd straight-sided Y-tracery" (Pevsner). Why so much non-conformism in the Cotswolds?

The sun struggled through as we passed amongst the horsiculture and many million-pound mansions in Ablington, Winson etc. (This view was taken looking back between those two villages.) Entering Coln St Dennis, we passed a weather vane featuring a gaff-rigged yacht - a long way from the sea. St James' was where Caroline and I were married 38 years ago, a June day rather warmer than today. I could not be sure I'd been inside the church since. Candles were carefully placed upon every surface: when lit they would make the Norman nave a pretty place indeed. Cutting across the Fosseway, we walked up through Chedworth, which must be one of the longest villages in Gloucestershire. At least, it felt like it: I was exhausted.

Dining out again

We were asked by friends in Chedworth to dine with them last evening, and - arriving at the cottage - to take note of a new acquisition: a grandfather clock. In itself, this might not seem to be so very remarkable, "But look at the face!" we were urged. And there was the inscription, "Giles Coates, Chedworth." Wonderful, isn't it, that in the 18th Century a village as seemingly small and insignificant as Chedworth should be the home to a still-celebrated watch and clockmaker!

Not that this Giles should be confused with his son of the same name, who met a watery end off the coast of Tasmania where he was sentenced to be deported for shooting the Stowell Park gamekeeper.

Altogether, I had a feast of a day, with an invitation to lunch from Leo: we ate Smörgåsbord at the Swedish restaurant just opposite my former office. And at the Emirates Aston Villa beat Arsenal 3-1!

"A three-year Odyssey"

This is how sculptor, Rory Young described his journey leading from the important commission for statues of seven martyrs for the niches on the nave altar screen at St Albans. Rory was talking to supporters of the Gloucestershire Historic Churches Trust this evening - a crammed Chedworth Village Hall. He called his lecture, "Mediaeval form and colour inspiring new work at St Albans Cathedral".

Goodness knows how many images we were treated to! Some slides incorporated two or more, so it must have been in the hundreds. They illustrated a voyage round mainland Europe (Amiens, Verona, Padua, Rome), but particularly England: other cathedrals of course (Westminster, Durham, Exeter, Coventry, York, Wells...); abbeys such as Westminster, Tewkesbury and Downside; great parish churches (St John the Baptist, Cirencester, St Mary, Warwick, Holy Trinity, Coventry), and lesser ones (South Newington, Notgrove, Leigh Delamere). Then there were the trips to the V&A and the Mercers' Hall. All served to illustrate a quest for hints of original colour, and the best sculptural representation of flowing garments and off-guard expression.

Perhaps Helen Whitbread over-egged it when she paid tribute to "a present Michelangelo in our midst," but we were certainly wowed.

Alas, we couldn't stay for supper in the pub, as bidden: it was 19-year-old Misa Yamahoi's last evening with us. One of a group of students from Japan, she arrived to stay with us on the 10th, the day before the Pope resigned. It seems strange that all the hoo-hah surrounding this event in our media should so completely pass by someone in our midst but from quite another world.