Over presented?

Thomas, back from Lisbon for a week, has climbed the step ladder to put the star on top of the Christmas tree, which Caroline fetched from Winstone on Thursday last.

We shall be eleven for dinner tomorrow. Nevertheless, when you look at the number of presents already under the tree, you might think we were expecting twice that number. I seem to say this every year. Decades ago, Sarah invited a Polish teacher, Barbara to spend Christmas with us at our family home, the Coach House, Arrow. Upon being asked to sum up her impressions of the day, she volunteered: "I think you are over presented."

Winstone walking

The Wednesday walkers this week convened at the Highwayman and walked Southwards through Winstone parish. We were too hot to go at any great pace, so it was quite a small loop; but it was interesting to compare the churches in Winstone and Duntisbourne Abbots. The former, shaded by a huge Cedar of Lebanon, feels loved and cherished, a candle burning on a North aisle window shelf: the latter lacks that sense of mystery, its churchyard grass mown to an inch of its life.

On our way we passed the house of friends, who invited us in to see their bitch's litter of six whippet/lurcher puppies, born on Sunday evening. Aaah!

Back from Cirencester

I caught the bus to Stratton Post Office, just North of Cirencester this morning, with the aim of walking back home from there. In the end, I cheated somehat, by descending from Crickley Hill Country Park to Little Shurdington, and catching the bus back from there. But it was still a reasonable workout in preparation for Spain - 14 miles/22.5 kms. Even though I carried very little, I'm exhausted this evening! Am I mad, planning to walk this distance every day for three weeks? Probably.

It couldn't have been a better day for a long walk - sunshine and practically no wind. The first half was much the more beautiful: I visited five wonderful Cotswold churches as I walked up the Duntisbourne valley - dedicated to St Peter, Holy Rood, St Michael, St Peter again and St Bartholomew. Though there's no church in Middle Duntisbourne, this picture of the hamlet with its lake seems to me to capture the spirit of today's walk.

Until I reached the doggy domain of the Country Park, I saw not a single other walker. And spoke to just two men - almost the only people I saw in the Duntisbourne valley: one was a 74-year-old, working on his allotment, the other, 78, scooted up on his electric power-assisted bike whilst I was eating my sandwiches, to clear out the area round a spring, till 1954 (he told me) that village's water supply.