Me and my golf trolley do a bit more of Cotswold Way

 

Actually it was not supposed to be a bit more, it was supposed to be the rest of it after completing the Bath to Stroud section last year.

I started out from Stow on the Wold at around 10am on 12^th June 2024 having completed some necessary mods to the golf trolley, now called the GT. Most important was a fast release connector to detach the thing from my haversack. This latter worked well, and eased the problem presented by the bloody kissing gates. Bus to Merrywalks in Stroud then managed to reconnect with the Costwold Way at Ruscombe. That was not easy. I had to stop at a pub called the Star Inn on the way to ask for directions, then finally managed to rejoin the Way which I have now renamed the Dogswold Way since there are so many of the four footers exercising their owners up there nowadays.

The first stage was a walk to Painswick providing some great views of the Severn Valley along the way. In Painswick I spent my first night under canvas in a wood opposite the town’s Rococo Gardens. Didn’t sleep too well: female foxes screaming, I think. Found a pub of course. It was the Royal Oak which a man on the street told me was the best pub in the world! It was not half bad. Good food, great local ale and an excellent lady publican plus a few friendly locals to converse with. I was short of water for next day and the landlady gave me a bottle, “No charge, because I admire what you are doing”. Wow.

Woke at six and, after the usual hour de-tenting, I rejoined  the Cotswold Way which passed right next to my corner of the wood. It led through a golf course which was lightly populated by early morning dog walkers often with 2,3 or 4 dogs, plus a few early golfers who, I thought, eyed my GT with some perplexity. I was directed by helpful walkers towards Painswick Beacon but I did not see it.  Very poorly signposted. Weather was still good with sunshine though chilly. Then a long trek mostly through steep sided beech woods (eg Pope’s Wood, Upton and Brockworth) with limited views due to the trees. Rounded the steep sided Cooper’s Hill before coming to a roadway and then along wide and often muddy farm tracks chewed up by tractors. There I had long views towards Gloucester and could see Witcombe Reservoir. Met a few people: mostly women walkers or dog walkers. One woman was from Holland and had her whole trip organised by Cotswold Walkers who transported her luggage from stopover to stopover. She eyed my GT with something between curiosity and distaste.

There is a pub at Birdlip Hill, but I arrived at about 11am and wanted to reach Cheltenham where I planned to overnight so carried on rather than having a bite of lunch there. Plodding on I began to see and hear a very busy road which turned out to be the A417 heading up the hill to the old Air Balloon Pub - recently deflated. This is the place where, as I told anyone who would listen, I had my first pint of bitter, aged 15 years (me, not the beer).

Had my lunch, a scotch egg, at the car park near the crest. Wonderful views towards Gloucester and the Malverns, but marred by the noise of the A417 then on each side of me. The area around the flattened pub was like a war zone. Heavy lifters crushing and moving rock for some new road layout, same machines that destroyed the Air Balloon, I suppose. Leaving that behind me I entered the strange diamond of road and path which sits atop Crickley Hill, home to two stone-age occupations and then an iron-age one. Though redolent with ancient history there was little to see of that, but those old ‘uns did have a great and expansive view from up there.

Getting out through the northern point of the diamond was tricky, high gradient slopes plus a narrow track and I was quite confused by it all – didn’t seem to line up with the map. I struggled on through strengthening drizzle to Leckhampton Hill, part of my upbringing in Cheltenham, and headed for the strange natural limestone tower known as the Devil’s Chimney. I did not see it, the drizzle had become a serious rain storm. I donned my waterproof trousers and struggled along hardly able to see much through the rain and also battered by strong winds. I felt like an arctic explorer, but managed to find the Way to Hartley Hill with its misty views of Cheltenham to the north. After that the Way made a dog leg south towards Seven Springs where I had to take the very busy A435 road. It was horrendous, no pavement and the grass on the verge so long that I could not drag the GT through it so kept to the very edge of the road itself with cars and lorries within inches of the wheel of the GT. Very relieved to turn off onto a proper path that led up to Ravensgate Hill and which then turned back in the correct direction making for the reservoir to the east of Cheltenham.

I had planned to camp near Cheltenham for the night but the rain came back and the whole area on the upper slopes became very slippery, not good when you are towing a GT. The downward path edged along a steep decline where I had to push the GT in case it might drag me down the slope from behind. I did slip once in fact, but managed to save myself and the GT from falling. Having lost the Cotswold Way, I was forced to enter Lineover Woods which eventually led me to the A40. However, before I reached the road, I had decided to abandon the walk. It was just too wet and the forecast was grim. I checked the bus times to Stow on my phone and found that the very last bus was due at the Reservoir Inn at 18.48, I had ten minutes or so to get there. I could just make it. This was an amazing and fortuitous coincidence. I could not believe my luck, but the bus did arrive and I clambered aboard with all my stuff.

Disappointing. I had only covered about 26 miles, consumed 3 pints of ale and visited just two pubs. But the walk was good and I will continue on to Chipping Camden sometime this year.

A surprising visit to Lincoln College. Sexual harassment and the founder of Methodism

 I have a slight interest in John Wesley and the Methodist Movement mainly stimulated by providing a couple of tours on that theme in the past. The connections with Oxford are strong, of course. Wesley and his brother attended Christ Church and, after graduating, John became a fellow at Lincoln College. He is celebrated there: his original room is preserved, he preached in the chapel and donated gifts to the college.

Simon Q  CC-SA BY 2.0

With others the Wesley brothers founded a group sometimes called the Holy Club. They were rigorous in their religiosity, meeting daily from six until nine for prayer, psalms, and reading of the Greek New Testament, then praying every hour throughout the day, taking Communion every Sunday, and fasting on Wednesdays and Fridays until 3 pm! It is from this rigour that the term Methodism is said to have evolved.

That demanding timetable would seem to leave little time for dalliance. Nevertheless, Wesley did marry. This took place in 1751 by which time he was 48 years old. He would have then been required to resign his fellowship at Lincoln (Fellows were sworn to celibacy until late in the 19^th century). That said, I was intrigued by a notice of a forthcoming lecture at Lincoln titled Wesley and Women and went along with Margaret, my wife, who has a slight interest through her non-conformist upbringing as a Baptist.

Expecting a rather dull meeting yet hoping for something that might add to my guiding knowledge, I was surprised and shocked by the presentation. It focussed on a mysterious letter to John from a young female admirer; a letter that had apparently been discovered and removed by his wife when she left him in 1758. The lecturer read extracts from the letter and displayed the text on the screen at the same time which was quite effective to my mind and preferable to the straightforward reading of papers common amongst Oxford academic presenters. Amongst warm appreciation of Wesley’s godliness, etc, there were clear insinuations in the letter of unwelcomed sexual advances! However, the situation is confused by alternate use of first or second person which left some doubt whether the perpetrator was Wesley or some unknown man.  The presenter left us to decide for ourselves the validity of the letter and the guilt or otherwise of that stalwart of Methodism.

Afterwards we drank wine with the presenter and his wife, then walked to Oxford’s newest hotel: The Store. There we took a lift to the roof top bar and surveyed a panorama of Oxford’s centre which was spectacularly new to me and, to use a modern adjective, awesome. Another glass of wine then home, discussing the culpability of Wesley and moral lassitude of important men. Sorry I should say people to be inclusive.

 

Inspiration from Morocco

 Yes, we’ve been off again. First time to Morocco, though it’s next door to our second country, Spain, and shares a couple of cities with it. Why Morocco? ‘Cause it’s supposed to be warm and sunny in the winter and it combines some familiarity (we lived next to Moroccans for some time) and has tempting mysteries.

We landed in Marrakesh and it was hot. I had booked a hotel for three days with the flight which was mysteriously called, Riad DAR 73. We caught a bus to a large square which turned out to be the main centre of the ‘red city’ and walked towards the hotel; it did not seem far and we had Google to guide us. But Google failed and three policemen in argumentative conference could not help. After many false trails we found the place down a very narrow alley strewn with rubbish and lined with collapsing houses. We could not believe it, this was supposed to be a five-star hotel with swimming pool, though I must say it had seemed quite a bargain. I ducked low to get through the door and looked around suspiciously, could this really be it. In fact, once inside it was not too bad, but certainly not five-star.­­­­

This was the beginning of our flirtation with Riads. They are large houses that have been converted into small hotels. They are located in the Medinas (the old walled part of city where no cars are allowed) down very narrow alleys. They are not at all impressive from the outside, but are often palatial inside: usually built around an atrium with the dining room on the ground floor. Our most impressive were in Fes, the original capital. There the Madaw had a large atrium decorated with multi-coloured small tiles in swirling patterns reaching right up to the top floor where our sumptuous room was similarly decorated, as was the shower room. Yes, we stayed in a small palace with an open rooftop above and sometimes had the whole place to ourselves.

We had taken the train to Fes so we could see a good deal of the country along the way. Once there I found the Medina claustrophobic and soon tired of the passive aggressive offers of help from potential guides. We travelled to the more modern capital of Rabat then drove to a large lake called Merja Gerga beside the Atlantic to study birds where I was particularly thrilled to observe spoonbills.

Morocco is not the place for those who like to take a drop, but we managed. The saving grace was often the hidden booze cellars of Carrefour supermarkets, but some restaurants catered for the needy.

Returning to Oxford at 4 a.m. on a freezing Sunday morning we walked through appalling scenes of drunkenness, debauchery and semi-nudity. And, out running the next day, I rather missed the friendly faces, the hand touched to the chest, the engaging nod, the knowing smile and the warm sun. Back to reality, the trip has given me an idea for a book, and that can’t be bad.

Only in Oxford: Free Will versus Determinism

 Did you freely decide to read this blog or was it simply inevitable? This free will argument engages my brain and has done for some time. Is everything pre-determined? Since our universe is determined by physical laws then given a fixed starting point everything must evolve according to those laws – that is determinism, we do not have free will. You did not decide to have eggs for breakfast this morning rather than cereal. You thought that you decided, but that thought was predetermined. When Jack the Ripper murdered all of those innocent people, it was not his fault, his actions were predetermined and not his responsibility!

I believe that we have free will and I can explain why. I believe that you can choose between eggs and cereal for breakfast and hence that we are responsible for our actions. Consequently, Jack the Ripper, if he had been found, should have faced the consequences.

Nevertheless, this very important issue needs exploration.That is why I decided to return to Oxford from Stow on the Wold in order to attend a lecture on it at St Margaret’s Institute which is quite near to our flat in North Oxford. The title was ‘Free will is not an illusion: biology against determinism’ and the speaker was Denis Noble. As usual I cut things fine, arriving about 3 minutes before the start. I was then faced, along with other disappointed attendees, by a large printed sign saying FULL UP. I was shocked. After all the lecture hall is large, it probably holds 70 or more, and the subject somewhat obscure. And so the title of this blog: “Only in Oxford”.

Undeterred, I returned to the flat and quickly found a video by Denis Noble on this self same subject. Watching it I quickly ascertained that this ancient, white haired, white browed academic believes that we do have free will - that our actions and thoughts are not predetermined. He bases his argument on the simple fact that the elementary stuff of which we are all made behaves randomly (Brownian movement, etc) and so nothing is predetermined.  I so agree.

Later I watched a TED talk by an enthusiastic young determinism believer. He was very convincing of course. But, at the end of his talk, he advised us that we must not use this determinism as an excuse for irresponsible action! We must, he advised us, try to do the right thing and by our actions persuade others to do so too. Silly man. If everything is predetermined there can be no persuading since that assumes the possibility of changing the future and determinism determines that the future is already determined! What do you think?