Monday, 3 June
I left you on the June bank holiday. Well, on the Monday my brother dislocated his shoulder. He was out cycling and hit a bump and with those stuck to the pedal shoes, you’re a bit doomed if you go over. My sister rescued him and brought him to hospital. It took them three goes to get his shoulder back in and they knocked him out the last time. Grim. He’s still not quite right and is gutted that he is probably going to miss the Ring of Kerry cycle for the first time in years. I mean, whatever floats your boat but it wouldn’t be for me. Very hilly.
Thursday 6 June
I laid down the law and said as the guys were at home relaxing they were going to have to start cooking dinner one night a week each. Honestly, best decision ever. I am now only cooking dinner two nights a week. I rejoice. Like myself, Michael is not a cooking enthusiast but he is competent. Daniel is always making delicious new things he sees on the internet. Very gratifying.
Friday 7 June
On the way home from voting (locals and Europeans), I stopped to admire a house which has no front garden but has a wildly impressive range of plants growing up the walls. The owner was bringing stuff into the house from his car and I admired his plants. He promptly gave me a present of two sunflower plants. A delightful democratic dividend.
Mr. Waffle then drove me out to the airport and I flew to Heathrow. Some time ago, my sister-in-law suggested she, I, my sister and the Princess should have a weekend in the Cotswolds to celebrate the end of the Princess’s undergraduate college career. When I agreed to this, I did not realise what would be in my future (a trip to Donegal for a birthday the following weekend, followed by collecting herself the Monday and Tuesday after and then a work trip to Strasbourg on the Wednesday – I did not know this at the time of the Cotswolds weekend but I was extremely relieved when my work trip was subsequently cancelled).
My sister and I met in Heathrow and drove to Oxford where we picked up herself and my sister-in-law and took ourselves to lower Swell adjacent to Stow-on-the-Wold (do we love English place names? We do). I was impressed by how easy the hire car was to drive. I did feel sorry for my children learning to drive in a 2014 diesel station wagon but I suppose if they pass the test in our car they will be ready for any challenges the motoring world may throw at them.
Our airbnb was lovely and it boasted a cute nearby pub from the 1700s where we went on the first night. I got my first glimpse of the extraordinary gardening prowess of people who live in the Cotswolds.
Saturday, 8 June
Stow-on-the-Wold is lovely and very near Lower Swell. We repaired there for breakfast and very much enjoyed having a look around the town.
It allegedly has the oldest pub in England. Allegedly it is also the inspiration for the Prancing Pony in the Lord of the Rings books. Though this is a bit of a hotly contested title.
I was disgusted to discover we missed one of Stow’s main attractions, St. Edward’s Church, though we basically parked beside it. Next time. I was foolishly relying on Uncle Jack and Aunt Cecilia’s 1937 guide book by Mr. HJ Massingham (bang up to date from when they visited in 1940) and, I can tell you, guide book technology has really advanced since 1937.
The Cotswolds are absurdly pretty but also very heavily touristed. There are a lot of cars and a lot of tour buses. We made the unwise choice to visit Bourton-on-the-Water. Mr. Massingham has some very temperate praise to bestow upon it: “Bourton has been called the Venice of the Cotswolds, but this is obviously a misreading for the Wigan of the Cotswolds. The only thing to do at Bourton is to stand and stare at those lovely bridges and pray for the death of the Progress all round you..” It is very pretty but it is a terrible place to visit. Mr. Massingham’s prayers have not been answered and it is a tiny village heaving with tourists. I, sadly, cannot recommend. This picture from there is artfully shot to avoid the press of people.
Undaunted (well, perhaps a little daunted) we went for a walk around the outskirts of the town and, although we got lost several times, it was very pretty and the weather was beautiful. Overall a win.
We had a really good early dinner in Stow (the hero town of our visit) and we were all delighted (I would plug the restaurant if I could remember its name). The nice people at the table beside us recommended Broadway as a place to visit and as we finished dinner relatively early we took ourselves there for a look. It’s a lovely spot. I nearly keeled over with delight to see that it is the home of the Lygon Arms.
This is where Jack and Cecilia stayed in 1940 and I had the papers to prove it.
We went in for a drink which was very pleasant but it would be fair to say the staff did not share my excitement that my great aunt and uncle had stayed there in 1940 with one man kindly commenting, “Yes madam, we’ve been here since 1537”.
Sunday, June 9
We went to visit Daylesford which is a shop that the Princess was mildly interested in investigating. It was grand as it was nearby but I wouldn’t go out of my way to inspect it.
We then took ourselves to Moreton-in-Marsh for a quick look around. It’s Mitford territory.
Also, again, Prancing Pony territory.
Then we drove off to Oxford where we said farewell to my sister-in-law who got the train back to London. I have to say, she is a pleasure to travel with and extremely good at organising things. Would 100% travel with sister-in-law tours again.
My sister and I went for lunch with the Princess and some friends (I have not said where herself was at college until now in the interests of privacy – yes sometimes I believe in this – a bit – but now that she has left, I have thoughts which I will share in due course). I wasn’t sure how this would go but it was actually very pleasant. A triumphant weekend. Then on our way back to the car after lunch my poor sister fell and hurt her knee. I had to scurry off to get the bus to Heathrow and the Princess had to scurry with me to show me where to get it due to my legendarily poor sense of direction. My sister was staying an extra day to visit a friend but she didn’t enjoy it a whole lot due to a swollen knee. Alas. I did feel bad abandoning her.
Overall, notwithstanding some quibbles, I would love to go to the Cotswolds again – almost every corner of it (them? what is a Cotswold?) seems to be absolutely beautiful – but my big lesson would be not to rely on a guidebook from 1937. Please let me have your Cotswolds recommendations for my next trip.
