Cycle Norfolk

We are staying in rural Norfolk, having come here by train and bike today. There was over an hour between our supposed arrival into Paddington and our departure from King's Cross, ample time, I thought, to bike between the two along the Regent Canal towpath, our most tranquil route. But the Cheltenham train came in late, and it was slow going through the rain, so we ended up having to run the length of platform 11 to catch our connection. Then we had to squeeze our bikes in between the end carriage doors, there being zero other provision, this despite the service feeding Cambridge, Ely, King's Lynn, the most cycling-friendly part of England. (As Amanda tells Elyot,"Very flat, Norfolk.")

King's Lynn merits further exploration, but we much enjoyed what we had time to see of the old town, whizzing round the outsides of Clifton House (with its 18th Century barley sugar columns either side of the front door and extraordinary Tudor tower at the rear), the Guildhall, the Old Gaol, the Custom House and the so-called St Nicholas' Chapel (almost the size of a small cathedral). It was St Margaret's Minster that impressed me most though. Not just the Norman West front: the 13th/14th Century arcading and brasses too - but also the modern crucifix above the pulpit, altar frontal and stained glass in the large N-W window under the tower. A vibrant church!

We were glad to complete our 15 miles here before dark, and get out of the rain. This after only a minor detour - not bad considering I had no proper map. As my photograph shows, our kind hostess, a very old friend, has begun to look uncannily like Basil Hume. He was never, to my knowledge, a cat-lover: she gave us a cat as a wedding present.

Astley

We have travelled to North-East Warwickshire today, to stay in one of the latest Landmark Trust properties to become available. Astley Castle was really more designed - in the 13th Century - as a fortified manor house: this part of the world is pretty flat, so the site has few natural advantages. The Trust provides parking behind the 18th Century Coach House, seen to the left of my photograph, and wheelbarrows for luggage to be pushed up the path - hardly an arduous task as it's certainly not an ear-popping ascent. The gates would hardly stop many armies in their tracks, though the moat is impressively deep.

What is so attractive about Astley? Its history - three English Queens are associated with it; and the fact that there's now a totally modern dwelling with plenty of room for eight people, built within the old walls. Brilliant in fact for a four-day stay!

Hard walking

The no 51 bus along the valley road to Cirencester dropped me at the Rendcomb turnoff. From there I crossed the road and made for Woodmancote, taking this photograph as I slithered my way up the icy road. A car that came later failed to make it.

At the top of the hill, I passed what must be one of the smallest "churches" in Gloucestershire: the tin hut that houses the Woodmancote Christian Fellowship - considered beneath the notice of Pevsner. From there I followed the track leading eventually past the late 18th Century Cotswold Park and onto the narrow road up to the A417 below Beech Pike. My destination was The Five Mile House, now open again for lunches (save on Monday and Tuesday).

The three or so miles I covered was enough (being horribly unfit) - on the whole, an easier walk than had it been muddy, but what a pity the sun didn't shine as yesterday!

Prospero's new clothes

This afternoon, we drove up Churchdown Hill. I must have been there years ago, before the trees were decimated, but I couldn't recall looking at the church itself. The panels of some early 18th Century table tombs are embedded in the exterior South wall (we couldn't get inside) - this rather primitive, alien carving amongst them.

From here it's a remote segue to Tom Adès' "The Tempest", relayed today from The Met. Especially as the Shakespeare-lite libretto seemed to ignore Prospero's great speech, "Our revels now are ended": with its likening of life to "this insubstantial pageant", it would have brought to mind my earlier walk through the beautiful graveyard of St Bartholemew's.

Notwithstanding Lepage's amazing production, and some astonishing singing (especially from Audrey Luna as Ariel), I really couldn't be doing with Adès' music: a waste of time and money! But plenty to discuss over dinner afterwards.

Cycle 1

Today, we took our bikes off the train at Chesterfield and cycled some 35 miles East, to Normanton-on-Trent. The weather was perfect, and - apart from the steep push up into Bolsover (this is the view of the Castle on our way) - it wasn't too hilly. I knew we would enjoy pedalling through the Dukeries (we passed near Welbeck Abbey, and right by Thoresby): what I hadn't bargained for was the magnificence of Smith of Warwick's Sutton Scarsdale Hall. Open today for the first time this year, we came across it by accident: the lane down through housing looked unpromising, but suddenly there rears up this immense early 18th Century ruin. Looking at the vestiges of Italian stucco fireplaces, you can still feel the throb of a grand household. I particularly loved the unearthly outlook from its terrace - directly over the M1 and across to Bolsover. That's a place to explore further some time when we are not already exhausted (lack of biking practice), and don't have miles further to go before our 6pm ETA.

Oxford catering

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.

"It's called losing"

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."

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.