Our village green this morning
My x-rays are clear. I am disgustingly, bouncingly, 100% fit and healthy. If I were a cat, my nose would be wet. But still, I am compelled to lose some poundage. My weight gain has not been accumulated by gluttony or unwholesome foods; I am the annoying kind of person who can (and does) keep a Lindt chocolate bar in their desk drawer and eat a couple of squares a week. I enjoy oatcakes and unsweetened muesli and feel no temptation towards cakes or snacks. No, my pounds have built up from the unbelievable hardship of having my studio next door to the bedroom, which I enter first thing in the morning and (previously) did not leave except to do the odd walk or pop-to-the-shop. Thankfully, being 6ft tall, it doesn't really show, but the scales do not lie. So, for the first time since I was fifteen, I am taking daily exercise. I have lost half a stone and am feeling bizarrely fit - my skin is almost glowing and my cheek bones are cautiously emerging. Even Andy has noticed, and when your long term partner notices change, it must be change.
One of my favourite lanes
At eight am in the morning there are few places I would rather be than on one of my regular circulars; a seven mile round trip to buy the Saturday 'Times'. It's downhill and uphill and gets my cardio-vascular thing-a-me-jigs going nicely. The roads are fairly quiet, as most people are indulging in a weekend lie-in, so I cycle in blissful solitude.
We are enjoying a golden end to summer and the fields glow warmly with browns and golds. The occasional leaf drifts through the sunlight and through gaps in the hedgerow I glimpse church spires poking up from the landscape, the countryman's map markers.
I take a detour to one of the prettiest villages in our area, and visit the little shop. As well as my paper, I pick up burgers from Foxbury Farm, cottage rolls from a Gloucestershire bakery and cheese. The cheese - Crudges - is new to me and is one of the few to be produced in Oxfordshire from locally sourced Jersey milk. If you weren't tempted by it's provenance, then the blurb on the label would utterly win you over;
"Now made with raw milk for a fuller flavour, Haddon Gold is smooth and has a buttery taste derived from the rolling organic meadows of Hutton Grange Farm, Great Rollright. Meadow Fescue, Cocksfoot, Timothy, buttercups and dandelions, all gently swaying in the breeze, amidst the dappled shade of Horse Chestnut trees and the gentle sound of rumination from these beautiful Jersey cows."
Mr Crudge - for, unlike our favourite cake-baker, Mr Kipling, he really does exist - is a locally born farmer. For those of you who take an interest in such things, he rents his premises from ex-Blur member and newly-turned country boy Alex James. And if you are thinking that cheese is an odd thing for someone losing weight to be putting in their shopping basket - all things in moderation.
My aching knees have lost their stiffness and I almost whizz back along the narrow, straight lane and through the side of the woods, calling out a cheery hello to the drowsy herd of Dexter cattle. The sun is getting up and crickets are chirping in the dried grasses. People begin to emerge in their cars and it is time for me to be home.
There are, after worse ways to shed a few pounds.
My walks and cycling have been curtailed for some weeks, thanks to something I did to my ankle (not sure what but it stopped me going anywhere far) which took forever to get better and then getting a nasty little cold. But yesterday, after days of patchy rain, the sun shone and we went across the border to one of our favourite circuits. We had the usual quiet adventures which make us happy; ogling an empty (and gorgeous) old stone house and imagining what we would do with if it were ours...spotting fat brown trout in the crystal clear waters of a stream...finding a Victorian bottle bank on someone's land, naughtily trespassing to investigate and the ensuing disappointment of discovering it all broken.
However, these little joys were eclipsed by the proliferation of butterflies, enjoying the muggy heat. This estate leaves strips of 'scrub' for wildlife and they are havens for once common species, now sadly not-so-common. I haven't seen so many butterflies in one place for a long time, and set about 'catching' them - in the nicest possible way.
PAINTED LADY
RINGLET
SMALL TORTOISESHELL
PEACOCK
CLUMSY IMITATIONToday I was not so lucky with the weather. It was nice enough, when my trusty/rusty old bike, Hercules and I set off for a quick jaunt round the lanes.
We are so close to the county border that I can switch in and out of Oxfordshire/Gloucestershire within a few miles of cycling. By the time I was in Gloucestershire, the monstrous dark clouds which had been glooming behind me, finally caught up and the skies opened. Not much to do except keep pedalling. The clouds chased me all the way back into Oxfordshire.
Despite being soaked through, I still enjoyed the contrast of the brightly lit landscape against dark skies. By the time I was nearing the woods, there was a bit of thunder and lightening thrown in, for extra excitement.
Had to get off to walk round these puddles. The holey tree on the right is what we call the 'hornet tree' - where we once watched the goings on of busy hornets, and a couple of years later found the remnants of honeycomb which had dropped down the trunk. 
Drenched as I was, I felt a pang of sympathy for the farmer trying to get his hay in; like me he must have started when the sun was out, and like me, he'd been caught out.
The wind decided to get up, and if anything, the rain came down even harder. I cycled the last couple of miles home soaked to the skin and water almost blinding my eyes.
Deadline gone and buried. Hello freedom...narry a decent walk since Christmas and I was finally free to tramp the byways of our small patch of Paradise. The sky was a screaming cold blue, as if it were in competition with the Sun for brightness. It was only a small walk...up and out the village, risking life and limb on the twisty road, round which car drivers like to test their steering skills at sixty miles an hour. Then onto a quiet back lane, perfectly straight and lined at regular intervals with nice tidy trees.
From a distance it is visible for miles, instantly recognisable as looking like a child's' drawing of lollipop trees parading along the landscape. If I have had a rare trip to town, it is the first thing I look for as the homeward bus heaves itself over the brow of the steep hill before plunging back into the valley. For a few brief seconds there are the most spectacular views of the Cotswolds, panoramic in breadth and on a clear day, the Malvern Hills can be seen at the back, just creeping into visibility.
Some way down it there is a footpath leading back to the village. This was my humble goal, completing a brisk two mile walk before lunch. I found what I thought looked very much like the path, albeit without the usual signpost. I never do trust landowners to keep their public footpath signs in order, and I'm sure some of them would be greatly delighted if 'ordinary folks' stopped crossing their land, due to lack of pointers. Halfway down the track, I realised I was in the Wrong Place. The copse to my right should have been on my left, and the track seemed unused and overgrown. Turning back toward the road I remembered that some of the fields had set aside strips of winter fodder, and I had probably wandered down one of these, as there were plenty of dead seedbearing crops around, including some delightfully dessicated sunflowers. So naturally I stopped to take a few photos...
Returning to the road I spotted a sad little notice, collapsed from its stake, the plastic covered A4 sheet of paper blackened from ink runs and mud. It lay in a puddle, the message obliterated. The remains of an officious sign which ordered people not to venture into the field as it was a cover for game birds - I'd seen it last year, and the anarchist in me had instantly wanted to trespass...now I had done it inadvertently. I am generally careful to keep to paths, hoping that in the 21st century I will not be harassed by some swollen headed landlord for putting one foot wrong on their precious property.
A green Land Rover cruised slowly past and disappeared down the road. Minutes later, as I was heading towards the real footpath, it came up behind me and slowed to a halt. In the back trailer, hanging from a bar, swayed a few brace of pheasant. Naturally. Not many, but then, the season is almost over, and anything that hasn't been killed by now is canny enough to evade the guns. Inside were two tweedy gamekeepers. Wedged into the passenger seat, a jolly looking round faced chappie and at the wheel, a slab of cold humanity, Hatchet Face. He didn't even look at me. Jolly Round Face leaned over and enquired - in fairly friendly tones - if 'I knew I was walking through game fodder'. (Actually, I was walking alongside it, and there were no birds to scare anyway...being, as I said, dead or hiding). To which, being confident of my innocence, I replied 'yes I did know, and that is why I turned back', explaining briefly that I had mistaken it for the proper footpath over the way, pointing to the relevant hedge. Hatchet Face didn't blink, but Jolly Round Face seemed to accept this, and refrained from interrogating me anymore. I had a feeling that if it was down to Hatchet Face I would have found myself hanging with the birds in the back trailer, a garrote of orange bailer twine twisted round my neck. They drove off and I found the footpath, complete with helpful signpost.
It wasn't a particularly nasty confrontation, but it did niggle me. That they had been watching me. Did they see me taking photos of the sunflowers and think I was some kind of arty nut, idly dilly-dallying where I shouldn't have been? Lordy - even worse - did they see me wiping my cold wet nose on the back of my sleeve...that would have been shameful. It niggled me that they had come all the way back round with the intention of ticking me off - because if I hadn't answered so briskly and honestly, they would, I'm sure, have subjected me to a patronising lecture. Then I realised that I had probably been the most exciting thing to happen to them all day, bar blasting the bejabers out of the last pheasants in the county. And then I saw a tiny buff brown wren lacing its way through the silver grey fretwork of the bare hawthorn hedge. And a muddy black and white spaniel woffled up to say hello. And I realised I was jolly hungry, and there were more important things in life. Like tea and toast.
We are engulfed by freezing fog. With our village being situated in a valley it's like being smothered in an icy soup. Poor Andy is working right up until Christmas Eve night and yesterday was the last opportunity we had for getting a few festive bits and pieces in. I raided the Red Flannel Elephant petty cash, and we headed up the hill towards Stow-on-the-Wold, where the sun was breaking through and we carefully pootled along, the only motorbike out on the roads. When the weather is nice, you can barely move for fair-weather bikers on their shiny, under-used machines, togged out in nice matching leathers and spiffy helmets. They usually ignore us, in our tatty gear, although it is considered polite to nod at other passing bikers. They would have found yesterday a bit difficult, I think.
We made it to town safely. I spent the last of my pennies on a modest amount of cheese and wine, feeling some what bemused at the amounts of consumables being crammed into overflowing trolleys - is the world coming to an end? Are the shops shutting for a month? How many crisps and chocolates is it possible to consume without bursting? Reeling slightly from the rare foray into civilization, we togged up again and set off home. Up on the Stow road, there are magnificent views across the Cotswolds, and today we were looking down into an ethereal kingdom, wreathed in mists. Unwisely, and just as the fairytales tell you not to do, we took the bike off the main road and into the back lanes...
...it was quite stunning. And quite lethal. Carefully turning a sharp corner, we hit a deep patch of icy sludge. Thanks to Andy's years of driving in adverse conditions and his presence of mind, we slowly veered into the middle of the road, falling sideways onto the freezing mud. This is otherwise known as 'dropping the bike'. The bike was alright - it was cushioned by us. Andy scrambled off, and I lay, like a fallen tin soldier, partially astride my fallen mount. It's a big Honda Varadero, and weighs more than I do. Stunned, my first thoughts were; Andy's ok, he's walking about. I'm ok, I can feel everything. Oh bugger, did the wine survive? Still on my side and under the bike, I glanced to the tank bag, where our precious bottles of wine were about to cascade out onto the unforgiving tarmac. With my right arm free, I was able to gently slide them back in, and made sure the bag was rescued before disentangling myself.
First thing to do was to haul the Honda up, and get it out of any oncoming traffic, although in the end only two other vehicles passed us, unconcerned at our plight. Andy had been stabbed by the foot pedal as we toppled over and I'd turned my weak ankle again. The rest of my body was feeling a bit crushed too. We decided that Andy would take the rest of the shopping home, and I would begin walking until he came back for me.
I had been wanting to take some photos anyway, so I was quite content to limp along, admiring the scenery, thanking God that we'd had such a lucky escape. Just as my hands were starting to freeze, I heard the familiar chuntling of our poor old jalopy, and was soon home and esconced on the sofa with tea and Chelsea buns.
Miraculously, the only real casualties were a smashed packet of Hovis cheese biscuits, one egg and Andy's nice corduroy trousers; the foot pedal not only gave him a nasty dig in the leg, it ripped the bottom part of his best trews too. I have plenty of interesting bruises, minor whiplash, and feel as if I've been trampled by baby elephants. And I'm hobbling. But both of us are safe and alive. Really, it could have been a lot worse.
We might have lost the wine.
This morning the Sun decided to have a duvet day...it yawned, turned over and disappeared from sight under a thick quilt of grey cloud. With the wind tearing the last golden leaves from the trees, I tramped across the fields to investigate the skeleton which I have had stowed away over summer. Back in April I blogged a poor barn owl I had found lying dead in the farmyard. As I later found out, it had been brought back from the fields, and was terribly thin - it's been a bad year for them and we saw several sad corpses earlier this spring. I asked the farmer to keep the body for me and he stashed it in an old feed bin. Thinking it must be decomposed by now, I headed up the track... 
...towards the farm. There are still cows out, which is a sign of how mild it has been. I found my owl - what was left of it. With a stick I gingerly prodded the mound of green sludge, rather puzzled as to why there seemed to be no skull. Ribs, yes, feet, there was the breast bone - but where was the fist sized globe I had been looking forward to retrieving? A closer look with tighly held breath (the atmosphere was - saline) revealed it lurking under a puddle of glop, much, much smaller than I had imagined from the original carcass. It was only a couple of inches in length and really quite nondescript. However, I fished it out, and a little more investigation uncovered the bottom part. I didn't take photos; not very salubrious.
I thought I'd head back the way I came, despite the two herds of bullocks and heifers I had to pass on my way in. I am sure that I overreact to cows, and they had been amiable the first time round. As I opened the gate, one of 'the girls' bellowed. Not a friendly call, either. Dithering by the fence I took my courage in my hands; after all, heifers don't attack people, it was just me being silly. Engrossed in negotiating the ankle deep mud, I didn't really take much notice of the increased war cries, until I glanced up and saw the blasted things scampering towards me - scampering - let me not mince words, they were charging. And they didn't want my autograph. Regardless of knowing that the worst thing to do is run, I calculated that if I didn't move pretty sharpish I might become one of those statistics - is it four people killed every year by cattle? I squelched as quickly as possible back through the mud and just got the gate shut as they careered up, blustering and snorting. We eyed each other with mutal loathing. This is the ugly face of Great Britain today - young ladies out of control, striking fear into local residents...
So, I had to add an extra mile and a half to my journey home and return the road way. Rewarded with a few blisters and the warming sight of old apples glowing against the grey skies like Chinese lanterns.
Mostly air and feathers, the hunter's costume is a merely a fearsome facade...
...how insignificant we all are under our fragile layers.
Our village green this morning
One of my favourite lanes
Longing to be riding alongside you in that gorgeous countryside you call home!!! Look...I think I spotted Henry VIII out in the field with his hunting party ;-)
:) Funny you should say that, as most of this part of the county was once covered by forest owned by various kings of the day, they were hunting forests kept exclusively for Royal use (and woe betide any poor peasant caught poaching!). There are only a couple of authentic parts of this ancient woodland left, and the largest part is only a mile down the road - 'my' woods that I am always going on about.
Much worse ways, I'd say. Such a lovely lane to cycle along.
Very happy your tests were clear. That's always a refreshing feeling. I rather envy you your height. Not only can you get things from the top shelf without assistance, but how very skinny I would be if only I were taller!!
OMG what a lovely morning ride! I feel invigorated and healthier just reading your post. 6 foot tall, huh, and you make such wonderful little characters!
Reading this post is the best reason in the world to get distracted by Twitter. ... I think I'll go off and so something wonderful!
So pleased that all is wellfor you,
and,quite selfishly for myself. I do so look forward to your blogs.
What a good news! It's so nice that there's nothing to worry about! I suppose you feel relieved and full of energy to make some changes in your everyday life... I like very much your countryside. It looks so calm and picturesque. Maybe, despite the physical efforts, the cycling gives you some kind of pleasure and the sense of freedom...
Thank you so much for publishing the name of my blog in "Sites of the week" - it's so kind of you, Gretel!
Good news on the health front and hooray for you for doing your exercise regime. That's what I need to be doing too! Oh that English countryside is so lovely and as for the description of the cheese -- words fail!
I always enjoy bicycling along with you. Someday I hope to see it in person. We received harvest pictures from our English friends so Terry has the I want to go back to England bug again. (It never really goes away.) A goal to work for.
What lovely countryside! If I had such a picturesque spot to cycle in I think I'd weigh about 80 lbs! Although those lanes look awfully narrow.....
What a beautiful corner of the world, from here it looks like a perfect place to be.
The cheese sounds absolutely delicious,the real thing compared to the mass-produced varieties in our supermarkets. Raw milk is a touchy issue here, a health and food safety debate, with individual farmers trying to find their way around the regulations. Their customers say the taste is beyond compare.
Glad you are well, who needs health scares!
Blessings,
F
Oh PG, where to begin. Well, of course, congrats on your having got some good test results.
(I'm a lot older than you, and know what a shock it was to me when my metabolism began to slow down ... slow way down. This was just before I took four years off from being someone's employee, prefering to stay at home and paint and draw every day. Bliss!)
Well, I then had to go back to work and that's how I hooked up with the fashion retail world. In six weeks of being on my feet and up and down stairs 8 hours/day, five days/week, I lost 15 pounds in about six weeks. For me that was a big drop, and at first I was quite alarmed. Then the old metabolism set its new course, and I was back to keeping my original weight.
That was seven years ago, and I have been pretty much at that same reduced weight ever since. Has my painting continued? No, not at all. Would I trade the pounds for the paintings. Still wrestling with that one.
Before this gets too long, I do want to say that ... I would love to try that cheese! xo
yay!
We were in Norfolk last week and I sadi over and over again how I would love to be cycling. Unfortunately we live on the side of a steep hill and there are other steep hills nearby so cycling is a very unattractive pursuit hereabouts.(http://www.flickr.com/photos/dogdaisy92/3068673686/in/set-72157605067564810/)
I was once able to cycle from bottom to top without stopping..about 10 years ago.
My weight must be shed by walks and restraint.
I'm delighted to hear you are feeling so robustly healthy.
No felters lung then?
(Oh the verification word is 'unsad'. How appropriate)
I like the sound of Mr. Crudge! What a great bike ride - I'm a bit nervous of getting mine out at the moment - too many munching combines moving from field to field along the lanes!
Congrats on your health pass, and 10 large size solid gold stars for your bicycling. What lovely country and I presume you have nice clean air too! I'm hoping to get out this morning, now that smoke from the fires seems to have cleared.
Hmmm, you're almost tempting me to rescue my somewhat rusty, cobweb-covered bike from the shed..... almost. :)
x
Poundage is an ugly word. I too have excess. Your beautiful post has inspired me to walk more often. I love coming over to visit and view your photos. A bit of escape from the norm here in my land.
smiLes
DarLie
Glad you've had the all clear and very well done with the cycling. I think I should be going much further than I am to make a difference! Your countryside is so beautiful, it is a good way to get fit and no mistake. Can't stand stuffy gym's, bleurgh!
x
That was an absolutely gorgeous ride, Gretel - thank you! Do you think that riding along virtually will do me good too, fitnesswise? ;-)
I'm carrying too much around the tum for the same reasons as you. I too, don't snack, I quite like muesli and salads, it's just lack of activity. Now the dog's not allowed to go on so many long walks, I'm not getting my daily walkies! I must try and cycle every day. We live in a village, it's easy to get to quieter lanes. No excuses for me!
Good news about the x-ray. I would love to find somewhere of equivalent beauty to encourage me to get out and cycle - my waistline would certainly benefit, not to mention the rest of me.
wow.... what a beautiful ride.....
I imagine I, too, could lose some weight if I lived in a place like you do. Wow, is that ever beautiful. It seems like a fantasy world, actually. A stereotype! Thank you so much for sharing it.
You live in such a wonderful place... Thanks for sharing!
I truly enjoyed looking at your handmade farm animals, also!
You sure are very T.A.L.E.N.T.E.D!
ENJOY LIFE`S SIMPLE TREASURES,
DEBBIE MOSS
Such wonderful scenery - a truly beautiful and peaceful post. Always a joy to read. So pleased your x-rays were clear, so impressed with all that cycling...
I'm glad to hear you're all fit and healthy...that's great news. And what a beautiful place to take your daily prescription...total bliss.
Six foot!! My, my...I'd have to stand on a stool! ;)
If only I had such lovely surroundings for a bikeride: a castle to by pass, a lovely lane to wander. I too would lose half a stone (whatever that is.) But there is no such luck here, stuck in the disgruntled twighlight between city slum and ticky-tacky suburbia. Your lovely blog posts somehow urge me to gather up for myself more... and less.
And how glad I am to hear that you are fit, as it should be.