Not many places in Gloucestershire can be as tranquil as the upper reaches of the valley of the Holy Brook. Five of us were walking that way this morning, starting from Miserden - just the smallest sprinkling of ran could be felt for a minute or two, but otherwise yet anther fine, warm Autumn day. There were no mushrooms, but nuts and blackberries were gleaned, and above Honeycombe Farm a touch of Spain and Italy too: for Our Leader produced Cava, olives and sun-dried tomatoes, no less, from his backpack, with which we all celebrated his reaching that milestone that is three-quarters of a century.
Returning via Sudgrove, I had a word with Lawrence and admired his pumpkins. I had spotted his Concorde weather vane earlier in the year when we walked that way, and wondered what connection Concorde might have with such an outpost of civilisation (pace Ian McEwan). "There used to be a cat up there," Alex told me, "but I've always been a plane spotter: Concorde was based at Fairford during its testing, and when it came over and they were playing cricket, the game ground to a halt. I found the image in a weather vane pattern book, so I ordered one to replace pussy." From purr to roar.
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