Cotswold Way: The end at last

 I’ve done it! I had hoped to complete the 100 plus mile trek in two sessions, but on the second leg I was rained off at Cheltenham and when I resumed the walk I only managed to reach Winchcombe from where I had to return home by taxi after the disastrous ejection of my tent and belongings from a farmer’s field.

On this, hopefully, the last leg, I left Stow on the nine o’clock bus to Cheltenham with my trusty golf cart (GT) and changed there for Wincombe bus, which was packed full of people heading for the Way. Not really, they were mostly travelling to the town to visit its major attraction: Sudeley Castle.

My Way was the next turning after the Gloucestershire Way where my tent had been forcibly ejected on the last visit and this and it had an interesting name, Puck Pit Lane. After a while the lane became a  trail across a field and it was soon after that I lost my Way.  Puck it, I said to myself, but fortunately I spotted some walkers who were following the Way going south and took my lead from them. It rose steeply. At one point I was almost flat on the ground gripping tree roots to heave up the GT behind me.

Gaining height was rewarding though, the view expanded enormously as I headed north towards Stanway. The Way then dipped deeply down into a steep valley which embraces that tiny village and its eponymous  House. By the way, Winchcombe to Stanway by road is a mere 2.5 miles, by the Cotswold Way it is more than six and at times offers very strenuous hiking.

Next came the village of Stanton which is so lovely for a moment I imagined that I would like to live there. I was soon dissuaded by an elderly local decorator who informed me proudly that the house he was working on was worth £2.1m, and his next job was a place that was for sale at £2.1 m! According to him, all of those characterful Cotswold stone villas that I passed  were worth £2.1m.

Walking became more demanding as I headed towards Broadway and the GT developed a mind of its own, occasional slipping out of its essential quick release linkage then lying stationary on the ground. I think it  was along that I met yet more Americans walking the Way. This couple were about my age or a bit younger, she had been a librarian and he a lawyer  (semi-retired). We had a good old chat about books and writing and of course Trump. The lawyer had not voted for him but had some sympathy for those who did.

I had good reason to avoid Broadway, the quintessential rich persons’ Cotswold village, but I could not. Fortunately, I came across the perfect wild camping spot less than a mile outside the village, fairly quiet, private, and no bother to anyone. Took the usual hour or so to set up camp, have a quick shave and shower (joke!) then walked through a friendly sheep field, past the church and straight into a pub, the Crown and Trumpet. Three handpumps, friendly landlord and discount for CAMRA members (but even then, an expensive pint). Took my perfect pint of Shagweaver outside and made some notes of the day. I then went back in to order some food.

“Kitchen closed at 7.30pm,” said the landlord proudly. “You might get something at the Swan around the corner if you’re quick.”

“OK, I‘ll probably call in for another pint on the way back.”

“Not likely,” he replied proudly, “we close at 9.30pm”. What!!!

The Swan was a swish hotel on the main drag. I wanted something cheap and basic but they did not cater for the likes of me. Well, beggars can’t be choosers so I ate their sophisticated and expensive meal swilled down with a costly pint.

Afterwards I walked along the main street passing priceless art shops, sophisticated book shops and such. I despaired at the lack of cheap and ordinary outlets. Fortunately the Horse and Hounds was not bad, some real people there and a choice of beers at less than a fiver. The barman was a young Frenchman who sounded entirely English but, he told me, when in France he sounded entirely French. We talked about travelling through his country and he told me of a village that had been taken over by the rich!

That night it rained heavily and some water crept into the tent. Also I experienced the worst cramp ever, whole leg cramp. Good job I was isolated, I howled. At six I packed the wet tent and sleeping bag and headed through the town and up the very steep hill towards Broadway Tower. Gosh that was hard going after a night of little sleep and much cramp, but the tower and the scenery was absolutely great. In fact I think that the northern end of the Way is the most visually stunning.

Finally, I crossed the main road at the top of the notorious Fish Hill and followed the Way down towards Chipping Camden. It passes the famous Dover’s Hill (strange sports) and there, right at the end of my trek, I missed the turning down to the town. The only sign I found was marked Cotswold Way Circular Walk so I followed that . Down and down it led into a dense forest with no glimpse of the town. The only person I met was walking her aggressive Pit Bull Terrier. She shouted to me that it was a bit emotional and she was correct, when it saw me with the GT it went berserk. She was literally rolling on the forest floor in an attempt to control the bloody thing. I like dogs, but I confess to being really, really worried by that one. I could hear it barking and snarling for ages afterwards. I finally completed the circular walk by climbing up through the steep forest back to where I had started on Dover’s Hill! It was then an easy descent into the rather lovely, but traffic infested, centre of Chipping Camden.

I had completed the Way at last. This last section had been a hot trek but I did feel happy that I had finally finished. A kind and helpful young lady took a photo of me and the GT outside the lovely Market Hall a few metres from the end point of that long and fascinating Cotswold walk.

A nice thing happened to me in Oxford

 

It’s now 20 years since I qualified as an Oxford guide and there have been many happy experiences, however a recent Bodleian tour will stay with me forever. A teenage girl and her family were on the tour, and towards the end I noticed that she was busily drawing in her notebook. Later I asked her what she had drawn and, smiling, she said, “You”. She tore the sheet out of her notebook and gave me the portrait. I was touched and insisted on giving her one my books on the Rogues of Oxford which she asked me to sign. A creative exchange of sorts.

A Film Fuelled Birthday Celebration

 

My birthday is on June the 3^rd and since living in Oxford I have usually celebrated it with my wife by attending a few lectures in the city, a musical gig or two and hearty few pints of real ale. This year there was nothing on: no lectures of interest and no music – the only thing to be relied upon was the beer. Then I clicked on the film section of the local event guide and soon had my day sorted!

First off was a viewing of The Salt Path at our nearest cinema: the Phoenix in Jericho. This was our first outing to an actual cinema to view an actual film for years, and I hated it. Almost an hour of adverts and previews before the film actually started, and the two women next to me were eating, talking and spilling parts of themselves onto my seat, we moved.

Then the film started and I was transported. The big screen, the powerful sound system plus a film based on a true story that I could relate to: a mature couple walking the South West  Coast Path. They were walking to escape from the awful reality of losing their home. I could not of course relate to that, but I had walked part of the path myself some years ago. The film tells a tale of great hardship but has a happy ending. I did smirk at some of the details such as the lightness of their backpacks and choice of camping spots, but that, I suppose, was nit-picking.

After that we had a cup of tea then rushed over to the Beecroft Physics Building on the edge of the University Parks for something called Quantum Apparitions. It began with weird readings by a motley assortment of students/academics accompanied by equally weird sections of film. Then we were given coloured pencils (water soluble) and paper and encouraged to draw the person next to us! That was a great ice-breaker of course. My partner was a hirsute young post-grad from Greece (theoretical study of two-dimensional materials!) with long black locks and matching beard. Our drawings were then doused in water which apparently introduced us all to the concept of uncertainty. Here’s mine!

We rushed uncertainly to the Internet Centre of the University in St Giles to watch a film called Life in Oxford. The title was misleading; in fact we were shown a series of unconnected clips which centred very much on a seemingly shunned or neglected section of the city characterised by colour or poverty. There were interviews with people who originated from other countries who wanted a place of their own where they could celebrate their own culture and more with people who had dropped out of society and were now sadly on the streets.

We left early for a celebratory birthday pint in the Grapes where we met a stranger who was also celebrating his birthday. He wanted to buy us a drink, but we walked on to the Orange and Lemons for another nice pint of the real stuff.

Then up to the James Street Tavern on the Cowley Road, a road which must be one of the most racially diverse in the city. A man at this pub was showing short films, but he spent over an hour getting ready to do so providing an opportunity for more beer and casual conversation. First chat was with a lady from Austria who did not like her home country and had settled in Oxford. She had excellent English but told us that she was studying the language under the man who ran the films. Then a man that I know from the music scene came in. He has an unusual curly moustache and hails from Georgia. He insisted on buying me a birthday pint! Good man.

The short film finally ran. It was a close up, full strength, interview between a fictional female interviewer and someone pretending to be the President of America. Hmmm. The next film was of no interest so we left.

We had a nice tempura meal in Sushi Corner, a Japanese restaurant in the Cowley Road, then wobbled home. That was a really good way to spend my birthday – I was filmed-out by the end of it. I also lost my knapsack containing our umbrellas somewhere along the way. That’s a sign of a good birthday.

Pintless Science

 

I ventured out to the St Aldates Tavern last night for a scientific update! Sounds odd but I have enjoyed Pint of Science sessions over many years now. They are held across the country and apparently in many European countries too.

My first shock was that the session was sponsored by Oxford North, a monstrous ongoing development lining the city’s main trunk road that I have to traverse on my many journeys to the Cotswolds. The second was hardly a shock at all: I was probably the oldest person of the forty or so present.

Anyway, I sat there sipping my pint of Prospect, a rather nice local beer at a rather excessive £6.15, and listened with interest to the hydrogen problem: it leaks. Worse still, because it is such a small atom it works its way between the metallic atoms of pipes and containers and wreaks havoc. They crack up.  The speaker told us of various solutions to the storage and transport of this wonderful fuel of the future, though without a single conclusion.

Then came the break. I was one of the first at the bar for a refill, after all this was a Pint of Science and all of its adverts, plus a little badge they give you on entry, feature a brimming beer mug. I need not have rushed, there was no queue before or after me. By far the majority of the audience were still in the lecture sipping at their first, and presumably only, drink of the two-hour session. They were waiting for the quiz, a science jamboree conducted through mobile phones.

The next session was an interesting one based on the use of ultra-sound. It included the use of sound to transform an injected liquid into a failed vertebra to transform it into a soft cushioning membrane. Also its use in removing plaque from teeth and monitoring the development of a foetus.

Both lectures were lively and used images which were themselves enlivened by embedded videos and animations, a far cry from the slides of my day as a presenter.

Plenty of questions and applause at the end so I rushed to the exit to avoid the inevitable rush to the bar. In fact there was no rush at all, so I took myself off to the Blenheim where the beer is more varied and much cheaper. There I met Richard who told me of his work in a company which supplied very simple diagnostic aids for diabetics. We were of a similar age and naturally our conversation led to the drinking habits of the youth of today and, of course, I told of my Pint of Science experience where the audience were so extremely moderate in their consumption. Of course neither of us  could censure the young for their abstemious ways, but we did think that the title of the event needed modification. Half Pint of Science perhaps?