All my bags are packed

It's nearly time for the off. My friend Irv is picking me up on 30th and we're driving down to his house in France where he has a few things to sort then we're off to face the Pyrenees. I realise now that I've got a week of training left so I'm doing a bit more of the Cotswold Way. This is a blog about the bit from Stanton to Cleeve. The viaduct is part of the disused line from Cheltenham to Broadway. The line from Cheltenham racecourse to Toddington has been reclaimed by a railway preservation society and it's quite odd to hear the old steam whistles sounding in the far distance. I abseiled off this bridge as part of an outward-bound management course a few years ago. Not my favourite activity! This is the gatehouse to Stanway House, a Jacobean Mansion. You can imagine what the house is like if this is the gatehouse. The church next door has been a place of worship for 1,000 years and was owned by the Benedictine monks of Tewkesbury Abbey until Henry VIII dissolved the momasteries. On a bright spring morning this is a lovely stroll through local history. There's a micro-brewery (Stanway Ales) on site which supplies the local pubs

This is my least favourite thing about walking; a bull in field sign. Informative it may be but give me some more details. Is it in there at the moment? Will it have a go at me? What colour is it? My MO is to have a quick look to see if I can see him hiding amongst the cows and if not to walk along the edge of the fields reasoning that a decent rush of adrenelin will get me over the 4 foot high hedge, back pack and all.

OK, I know that these aren't bulls but I did see and hear an awful lot of sheep with their relatively new-born lambs. Much gambolling in evidence. I don't think the local farmers were hit as hard by the recent snow as those in Scotland, Wales and N. Ireland. The next couple of miles are through the meadows at the foot of the escarpment along the Winchcombe Way past Hailes Abbey. Hailes was a huge pilgrimage site in the middle ages until Henry came along and purloined it.

H

Mid-morning sees me having a cup of tea in a Winchcombe tea shop. Winchcombe is another one of those lovely, honey-coloured Cotswold towns. This is the courtyard of the old George inn (now apartments) which was originlly built to house the more well-heeled pilgrims. The dissolution obviously killed off the pilgrimage in the UK. Henry really made his mark around here. You can tell from the grandeur of the church that this was once a very important place. In Saxon times it was so important that they had a royal mint set up here.

 


 So far today I've taken the easy option and not climbed to the top of the escarpment but now there's no choice so I rejoin the Cotswold Way for the climb to the top of Cleeve; knowing that this holds a surprise for the walker. The path gets really steep as you make you way up to the top of the escarpment. This is a distant view of the 15th century Sudeley Castle. Catherine Parr, one of Henry's wives, lies in the chapel here in her marble tomb. He was a monster (Henry) but what an outrageous idea. Set yourself up as the head of your own church and give yourself a divorce. Nick the church land making yourself very wealthy and lease it out to the locals which brings in huge incomes. I can imagine the "Why didn't I think of that before?" thought-bubble when his advisors raised the idea

The path climbs through the trees until it breaks into windswept open fields. Spring is late and the hawthorn hedges are bare and offer no cover against the strenthening wind.

 

Before too long you come to the neolithic burial mound known as Belas Knap. This type of long barrow mound is common in the area and they're known as the Cotswold-Severn group. Sorry if this is turning into a history lesson but there is a lot of it around here. What I like about Belas Knap is that you can't drive to it so invariably you find yourself alone here. I ate my sandwiches, somewhat irreverantly, sitting on the north side of the tump protected by its bulk against a stiff wind.

The aforementioned suprise is that the walk declines to take the straight, flat route to the masts on the top of Cleeve but drops through woods back towards Winchcombe. I hate "down" on the Cotswold Way as it is a precursor to "up" and that's exactly what happens on this bit. The walk does pass the wonderful Postlip Hall which is owned by a sort of housing association who hire out their huge tithe barn for the annual Cheltenham beer festival. It's a very family friendly do and you can eat your picnic and have a few beers while the kids run around in compete safety. The next climb finishes at the Cleeve Cloud golf-course which offers sustinance to walkers and golfers alike. Great day out. 13 miles up and over the escarpment (twice) and the legs are feeling OK. A couple more Cotswold walks then the Pyrenees.

Every little helps

This is a 16th century fortress reflected in a puddle punctuated by the pouring rain. It's not supposed to be like this in southern Italy in April. As we've been doing a bit of shopping to stay out of the rain thought I'd blog on how Italians shop. Sounds boring already and it may turn out that way, but I need the practice (as you can see).

Us Brits shop in supermarkets/superstores. Convenient to get all your stuff including the petrol and vino collapso in one place (and a bit of cashback).You can even get them to deliver. I'm a LIDL man with Sainsburys being the back-up. Similar thing with DIY superstores. The Italians seem happy to trog around individual shops depending on where they get the best stuff even though it takes ages. So here are some of the independents I've visited recently.

                                                                         
First the little hardware store, inevitably renamed "Four candles" in homage to the Two Ronnies. Most of the stuff is in little draws so you can't just point to what you want. Shopping here requires a bit of basic Italian and lots of mime. Just try miming "Jubillee Clip" with only the words "water" and "garden" in the vocab locker. Here the owner is cutting Jill some washing line off a reel.







A few doors down is the fuit and veg shop where much of the produce comes from the family's small holding. Not only is the veg freshly picked and very cheap but Luca the owner is Italian cool down to the end of his designer specs. His Dad was delivering new season broad beans when we were in there.








The lovely smiling lady is from the family bread shop just round the corner. There's always a smell of freshly baked bread and a slight haze of flour in the air.








Wine comes from the poshest place we shop at, the "Masseria L'Astore" which is run by a much respected local family. They are proud of having Hellen Mirren (who has been there in person) and Mick Jagger (whose agent does the buying) as customers. Despite all this their own red and white, admitedly in plastic but still very nice all the same, sells at 1 Euro per litre. The only offie I know with a loyalty card system.




Another smiling lady at  the "Donno" pasticceria in Corigliano. She and her husband have been making "dolce", tiny sweets and pastries, here  for forty years. Everything they sell is made in their own kitchens. People take them (the dolce, that is) as little gifts when they are invited out to dinner.

I've briefly read this blog again and I realise now why I'm not thin.


As you can see from the photos above everyone was very happy to be photographed and posed proudly with their produce. That is until we went to Peppinos in Cutrofino. The photo captures Peppino pretty well but this exterior hides the fact that he produces the finest pasticciotto; custard filled sweet pastry breakfast taste bombs. His hissing, spitting expresso machine produces every sort of coffee based drink known to man. I've never dared to ask for a cup of tea here.

The more I think about it the more Fernley Whittisname I get about the supermarkets. They screw their suppliers and present to us a beguiling and well marketed offering based on convenience and price promises. But it's a Faustian contract we have with them. They drive out the little man. Petrol stations, butchers and offies are going the same way as the now extinct fish-monger (nearly forgot the fish man in the market). But it's not their fault they sell stuff like over-packaged green beans flown in from Kenya in the depths of winter; it's our fault that we buy them. If you told an Italian you were buying strawberries in January they'd think you were off your trolley. Maybe I'm so anti because my Dad ran a corner store and post office which we lived above very happily. When Tesco moved into town in about 1966 he saw the writing on the wall and sold up quickly.

As you get older it seems increasingly difficult not to sink into a Meldrewesque rant about any given subject so I'll stop now. The sun's come out.

Cotswold Way

Decided that a bit of cross-country walking is needed so did a couple of bits of the Cotswold Way. It starts at the beautiful old church in Chipping Campden. It's one of those honey-hued traditional Cotswold towns with all the marking of woolen trade prosperity; grand church, 17th century market hall, alms houses and the like. Jill and Freya dropped me off on Tuesday. Bright blue skies with a target to getting to Stanton.





After a walk through the town I reached open fields where the easterly wind was merciless. When you get to the edge of the escarpment at Drovers Hill the views across to the west are spectacular. This is where they hold the Cotswold Olymipcs each year. They started in the 1600s I think and some of the "games" seem now to be pretty brutal. Stick-hitting was a crowd puller. In this "recreation" two blokes hit each other on the head with cudgels until one of them was knocked senseless. They still practice the art of shin-kicking (a bit like wrestling but where you're allowed to hack the shins of your opponent) to this day.

You can see how cold it was with some quite deep drifts still sitting around. This is the folly called Broadway Tower at the top of Fish Hill which looks down on the touristy town of Broadway.








It lives up to its name with the road through being bordered by wide grass banks. It always seems to me a bit of a pastiche of a Cotswold village, more a picture on a biscuit tin than a real, living place. Fine art shops, interior design studios, smart hotels and antique dealers compete for space along the main street and around the green. Thank goodness for the Crown and Trumpet; a proper pub with a bar and coal fire.






 The next bit of the walk is quite steep to regain the height lost in the descent into Broadway and get back to the top of the escarpment again. Lovely views, good path and signage. The walk meanders down to the village of Stanton which is as pretty as the Cotswold gets. The Mount is a lovely little pub but check on opening hours if you are walking there with a beer in mind. I took to a bench and awaited my carriage.



Glad I didn't organise a Wednesday walk as the legs were a bit stiff the next morning. However, my old friend Bob had planned a trip for Thursday. We were to bus out to Cranham and walk back to Cheltenham via Birdlip on the Cotswold Way. Bob walked with me through the Champagne region when I was walking to Rome and never a day of walking went by without something memorable happening. The day started with us meeting wandering balladeer  Jeremy Steffen while waiting for the Stroud bus. I had a chat to him about music and asked if I could take a photo. Not only did he agree but he sat and played and sang all the way to Cranham. I know the A46 isn't Route 66 but some Muddy Waters and Peter Green numbers gave it a delta feel.

Our walk was great, heading north through the trees and well sheltered from the north-easterly wind. The walk takes you to the top of Cooper's Hill where each year they re-run and old Cotswold tradition of cheese-rolling. A couple of big rounds of cheese are rolled off the hill which is STEEP and the competitors run down after it. Sounds tame but have a look at it on Youtube. Very funny. Stopped at the Air Balloon (getting across the road there is suicidal) and then through the Crickley Hill Park and down into Cheltenham. We estimated it as 10 miles so I'm not far from the required fitness level.