Woodchester

In contrast to Monday, today was brilliantly sunny, a perfect day for Winter walking. Four of us set off from the lay-by on the A46, past the 18th Century former drying tower (now a house) up Frogmarsh Lane and through South Woodchester, a village with a past: so many fine 17th/18th Century stone properties! Then up alongside Dingle Wood, and back left on the drive towards Bownhill Farm, with a 180 degree panorama from Horsley to Randwick. We descended, skirting Woodchester Park, to Inchbrook through a large, rather incongruous vineyard, before the final climb up to pass above C.F. Hansom's Our Lady of the Annunciation and the former Poor Clares' convent.

Stir up Sunday

All three grandchildren were with us yesterday, stirring the Christmas cake in turn.

Old times

On our way down to Kent, we called at Crowborough to visit a former colleague of Caroline when she worked at the Courtauld Institute. We have been married nearly 40 years, and Caroline "retired" before our wedding, so it's been a while.

Now 95, Elizabeth lives with her only slightly younger sister. They were brought up in Constantinople (sic) and remember learning long division on the Bosphorus.

Seven up

Our youngest grandchild achieves 7 on Thursday, and we anticipated the event this afternoon, at Sydenham Road, where seven children and seven adults gathered round for the cutting of Caroline's cake.

Pre-birthday tea

Ida's birthday is not till tomorrow, but the celebrations are taking place in advance this year, for one reason or another. Agnes' Mamma Mia! cake set a triumphant seal on the children's party last Friday, and this afternoon Thomas, Caroline and I pitched up in time for tea in Bristol, and seeing the joy of a seven-year-old open presents.

Hopeful

I did dog duty this morning. Caroline was off to set up a stall at a car boot sale: not for all the tea in China would I have joined her.

I walked back home from halfway up Leckhampton Hill: I suppose Floss "walked" five times - at least - further than I did.

The Bee Team

17 pots of (very delicious) honey have come from Caroline's bees to date, but after a thorough inspection today, it seems that will be our lot for this year. It was a game of "Hunt the Queen", so far played without success.

Croft Farm Waterpark

Caroline booked the three grandchildren in for a kayaking session today, in a former gravel pit just North of Tewkesbury. Two hours was plenty. Having picniced at the waterside, and before our trio donned their wet suits, we were all entertained by ducks and swans on the look-out for food plus a gang of ice bucket challengers further down the bank.

I've been reading Alice in Wonderland to Ida. In view of current trends, too much "Off with their heads!" for my liking.

The invasion...

...has arrived. Edmund yesterday brought the three grandchildren to stay - on and off till the end of the holidays.

Caroline has set them tasks: William was on raspberry-picking this morning. "Have you been eating them?" I asked, as he presented the container half-filled. "I haven't had any out of the bowl," he replied.

Obviously destined for a career in diplomacy.

First fruits

Caroline thought the prospects of honey from her hive were remote for this year; but lo! Here are the laden combs, dripping off into a pot on the kitchen table.

Very sweet it tastes too. And all thanks to kind Mike, photographed with Caroline.

This morning, I paid a visit to a 96-year-old lady. "I gather there's delays at the Crematorium because of problems with the ovens," she told me. "Yes," I replied. "You'll have to hang on a bit till they're fixed." "Oh, I'm not thinking of going just yet," she said. I learnt that she had been captain of the Cheltenham Chess Club's second team, until the unsolicited attentions of one of the other members plagued her to such an extent that she resigned. With the Camera Club it seems she had better luck.

Tangled legs

The day started early and badly. I fell down stairs. As I was carrying half a mug of tea, it seems to have splashed every surface of the hall. Luckily, it happened only two steps from the bottom, so it was just my pride that was wounded.

Caroline (leaving early for Oxford) dropped me by Leckhampton church before seven so I could walk the dog for her. The light was good, but taking photographs I always find flare a problem when there's low sun. Perhaps it's the lingering influence of our visit to the Yorkshire Sculpture Park last week that these two logs caught my eye, lying by the path on my way back home.

Disfigured?

A couple of centuries ago, some of the denizens of Bourton-on-the-Water may have taken against the demolition of their church's Norman nave and tower. But was it disfigured by the Georgian replacements? Pevsner thinks not, and who am I to disagree with Pevsner?

We visited the church this morning, on our way to lunch in Upper Slaughter. And on our way back, we diverted a little further South along the Fosse, so Caroline could take the opportunity to buy bacon at Castle's. We found Northleach Square taken over by a film crew: Mark Savage's wine shop had become "Mollison's", and Pulham's bus was forced to stop in the main road, holding up all the traffic. It transpires that the great Gambon is in town, playing Howard Mollison, owner of the eponymous eatery in J.K. Rowling's The Casual Vacancy, being filmed for TV.

Not disfigurement, more transformation - putting me in mind that today is the feast of the Transfiguration.

CAD's little Aker

We have followed Rupert Aker's career with growing interest over a few years now, and so Caroline commissioned a painting of the view from Cleeve Hill as a present for Katie and Rob. It came yesterday, and will be delivered tomorrow - they are in Tanzania on honeymoon, and therefore unlikely to have their present-opening fun spoiled by this post.

Seven plus

No grandchildren, but all four children were with us for lunch today - plus Mini; and it's always difficult to prevent Caroline's dog from muscling in on the act. ("No balls inside, Floss!")

Wolds to Airedale

Starting off uphill to Sledmere, where we didn't linger, we drove via Malton to peep at the new Stanbrook building works. After a happy chance chat with the Abbess, it was off to Coxwold, to the Pottery. Alas Peter the potter has died, so potless we moved South-West to find lunch, birdlife and other solace at Harewood. (It was Caroline's first visit.) A Henry Moore exhibition was a bonus. 

Signs of Le Grand Depart remain everywhere, not least the massed marigolds at Harewood. Having all but climbed the Cow and Calf rocks, we now overlook - from our B&B - the River Aire.

Keranot

I am still struggling with my Hudl camera - or rather cameras. (Do I really need two?) Caroline forgot her glasses, so had to bike back down "our" lane to fetch them, giving me this opportunity to have another try.

Incidentally, one of our perennial gripes about going on holiday was how feeble the bulbs were in other people's bedside lights. Now, thanks to tablets, it's no longer a problem.

Were there a best kept hamlet competition in Leon, Keranot would never make the short list. It consists of some half dozen houses at the end of a no through road, the steep route down to the mill now impassable except on foot. As the sign indicates, cars need to make a detour. We walked down the other evening, discovering amongst the trees a secret garden wedged between the Koad Toulzac'h river and the mill race. M. Louis Lapous still mills, but not wheat: only oats. His creme d'avoine seems widely known around Finistere. (No more room in our panniers though!)

Specs recovered, we cycled off to Saint-Thegonnec for lunch with friends who live on the coast. Upon entering the Restaurant du Commerce, its car park replete with white vans, I felt some 40 pairs of workmen's eyes trained on the four of us.

Didier Bourel

Caroline finds it hard to resist a pottery, and today's (chez M. Bourel) was a goodie it seems. Despite full panniers on our bikes, we somehow have to accommodate two new mugs on our way back to Plymouth on Saturday.

The ride to Lampaul-Guimiliau turned out to be easier than I expected. Not a single car passed us, as I can remember. After the pottery visit, we ate very well at Hotel des Enclos, and liked the Parish Close and church more than the better known ones at Guimiliau itself, nearby. But the hot weather continues, and two churches are quite enough for today thank you.

We just avoided colliding with a funeral at Lampaul-Guimiliau: three of the mourners sat at the next table in the restaurant. The priest was the same as said mass at Saint-Thegonnec on Sunday. "How many churches do you serve?" I asked him. "Four of us look after 23," said he.

Godchildren

Caroline and I have between us collected quite a gaggle of Godchildren. It's nice when we have visits from them. Last week, Caroline's Godson and his newish wife came to stay: yesterday, my violinist Goddaughter arrived for the night, our reason for booking tickets for the concert I mentioned. She's been at another this morning, before joining us for lunch in the garden afterwards.

A great pleasure, but I was sad to reflect on how small a part I had had in her musical flowering: yesterday was the first time I had ever taken her along to a concert.

Dropping off at the Pump Room, I saw Festival Director Meurig Bowen, who handed me a copy of his 70th Anniversary Festival book: it's a beautifully put together assembly of all the programme covers over the years - plus a few photographs at the end (two by me).

Farewheel

Caroline has said a sad goodbye to her pottery wheel. With minimal hassle, it fitted very snugly into the car of friends who took it to a new home in London.

Bee team

Caroline's handling of her bees this morning was described by Mike, the expert, as "fearless". Roll on the honeycombs!

As for England last night, well, I reckon - having seen a few of the other sides in action - they're nothing more than a B Team: destined to be so near - but so far. I am not holding my breath following the defeat by Italy. Optimism has its limits.