A visual arts day

Caroline, as a member of the Friends of our art gallery and museum, was able to book us onto their bus trip into Herefordshire yesterday. We wiggled our way to Kilpeck, so we could wonder again at the 12th Century sculpture on its gem of a church, before spending a happy hour or two in Roy Strong's nearby garden. You might say, from the sublime to the ridiculous.

But for all it's being over the top, the garden created over the past four decades at The Lasket is a staggering achievement, a carefully-constructed three-dimensional work of art. The wilderness of an orchard where cats are buried isn't typical - there is something surreal about it.

This particular cat was, Sir Roy told us, named, not for the poet, but for William Larkin, the Jacobean painter: from the time I was a guide at Charlecote Park, I remember his portrait on copper of one of the Lucys, hanging in the Great Hall, a rarity.

Lescar

I had visited the ancient capital of the Béarn by myself in April 2009. Caroline and I stopped off there for some lunch today, on our way out of Pau, where Caroline had picked me up from the station. The 12th Century cathedral houses contemporary mosaics and capitals (including a Flight into Egypt), one of the loveliest of carved Annunciations (in the sacristy) as well as later royal tombs and a modern Saint-Jacques with a surprised look. This imp is one of several curious modillions supporting the apse roof: you need to sleuth your way around the outside to find it!

Leonard Stanley

Why do we all flock again and again to see the same well-known sights, when there are so many minor miracles waiting for us to experience? I must have driven along the A419 passing less than a mile North of Leonard Stanley a hundred times, but never once, in nearly 40 years as a Gloucestershire resident, have I entered the village before today. And the best way is clearly on foot - not difficult, with Stonehouse station such a short distance away. St Swithun's, the church, "contains much very good work," Pevsner (under)states. Above an aumbry in the Chancel is this most curious 12th Century representation of Adam and Eve as animals: Eve-bitch holds the apple in one paw and the serpent's body in the other. Tomcat-Adam looks on questioningly: shall I/shalln't I? It's crude work, but brilliantly anarchic. Two more conventional, and even finer, Norman sculptures adorn the ends of the central shafts further down the Chancel.

St John's, Elkstone

We took advantage of a sunny evening and Mini staying the night to drive up to Elkstone before supper: she hadn't visited the village before, with its fine church surrounded by tall trees: the main attractions are the 12th Century nave and chancel, but my eye was drawn to the figures carved high up on the 15th Century tower. One (on the North-West corner) is playing the citole, while this odd fellow on the N-E blows his shawm. (Pevsner supplied the details.)

Duntisbourne Abbots

What a great Spring day this has been! We ate lunch outside with our friends Colin and Jessica Russell after a gentle stroll up the dry valley to the North of Duntisbourne Abbots, returning via St Peter's Church. It has an unusual lychgate, swinging on a central post, and old gravestones stand like sentinels lining the path from it to the South porch.

Although it's 12th Century, I didn't find there was a lot to notice within the church itself, its setting on a sloped site in the village centre being the main charm of the place. However, this modern, deeply-engraved glass in the West porch window caught my eye: I wonder what its story is.

Great Coxwell's sow and litter

For the first time this month, Caroline and I drove off together across the Gloucestershire county boundary. Not many miles, though we could have touched on three other counties in the process.

First stop was over the Thames to Inglesham, Wiltshire. Notwithstanding Hans Hotter was singing Der Leiermann for Michael Berkeley's Private Passions guest (Dominic West) on the car radio, there was a touch of Spring in the air.

After a pub lunch in Coleshill (Oxfordshire, we were assured), we drove a short distance to Great Coxwell (Berkshire, according to Pevsner) to look at its stupendous 13th Century barn. More than 50 yards long, it is "as noble as a cathedral," in William Morris's words.

But I'm glad Caroline suggested we should explore a bit further before turning the car round: the village church of St Giles (even older in origin than the barn) has some interesting glass: engraved 18th Century in the East window, and a combined Good Shepherd and Good Samaritan window in the South wall of the nave, possibly Kempe or Clayton and Bell.

The church's most intriguing feature though is this sow with her litter, a rustic mediaeval relief carved high up on the West face of the tower. Its simplicity and humour contrasted so markedly with the ponderous sensationalism of Jeremy Paxman in BBC's The Victorians which we watched on television later.

France: Toulouse

As we drove into Toulouse, we experienced one of the disadvantages of being car-borne: there wasn't anywhere to park near Les Abattoirs, so we missed the chance to see something of its enormous collection of contemporary painting and sculpture, and Picasso's Minotaur backdrop. After handing the car back, though, we were free to explore the old centre of the city, and particularly some of its many fine churches: Caroline had only passed through before, and it was many years since I had visited.

I had forgotten how spectacular is the interior St Sernin, Europe's largest Romanesque basilica. And I don't at all remember the brilliant carvings on the church's Porte Miègeville: in the tympanum, there is the Ascension, witnessed by the disciples in stylised poses: they look faintly Egyptian. The figures on this capital are more naturalistic: I like the rather laid-back angel who accompanies Adam and a glamorous Eve out of the Garden of Eden. (This photograph also indicates the repair work needed on St Sernin's exterior.)

Salamanca: two-cathedral city

On 31st October, after saying goodbye to the Russells at Madrid Chamartin - they were off to Bilbao and home - we caught a Pendolino for the next leg of our trip. We glimpsed the huge Escorial (mausoleum/palace/monastery), and - with the sun setting behind it - the walled city of Avila, both World Heritage Sites, en route to a third, Salamanca. My expectations for this city were not that high. Knowing Oxford and (a little of) Cambridge, I couldn't believe that Salamanca would be comparable. It isn't. It's far better!

We were fortunate to have chosen a hotel well-placed for its view over the city: the Parador must be the ugliest building in Salamanca, but at least looking out from it you are spared looking at it. On our arrival there, all the main buildings were floodlit (er, yes, energy-wasteful, but magical all the same).

Before dinner - we were still getting used to Spanish hours - my young cousin Martin Williams and his charming fiancée Victoria led us through car-free (and, cf Oxford, bus-free) streets to the 12th Century, circular church of San Marcos for mass to celebrate the vigil of All Saints; and - the following day - they guided us again round the two great cathedrals, the church of San Esteban and the Pontifical University (with its Mudejar ceilings and library of 60,000 pre-19th Century books). In warm sunshine, we marvelled inside the Casa Lis, temple to Art Nouveau, and more still at Plaza Mayor: the world's grandest open-air drawing-room.