from dreaming spires to forest pyres

The beginning of the month brought a spectacular downpour. Lyra was all for waiting it out and retreated to the spot under the table that is just out of easy reach for a woman with a lead. However, when faced with the smell of a venison twisty bar found herself unable to resist. We then sat in the Hirsel car park waiting until the torrents abated to a steady drizzle (Lyra exuding an air of “I told you this was silly”). Once out though, despite the sogginess, it was lovely and mild with an autumnal twang of crushed leaves and mystery fungus in the air. Madam scampered about quite as if no fuss had ever been made …The rest of the day passed tranquilly wrapping up the Christmas soap and listening to The Bee sting by Paul Murray – which is an absolute corker so far.

A few days later we were heading through an early fog towards Oxford for a visit to Ishbel’s new house. As her spare room has not yet made it to the front of the to be decorated queue (and is currently full of the stuff from the living room which is next up) we were staying in Woodstock, a very quaint little village to the north of the city and just a stone’s throw from Kidlington, where Ishbel now hangs her nursing cap. We managed a quick stroll round, by way of leg stretch before heading out for dinner with Ishbel and Martin, when I spotted an excellent cashmere sweater in a rather promising shop. Keith, feigning tunnel vision and deafness, spotted a nice pub for later and declared it was time to go. It’s going to be welly socks from the eco shop for Christmas again isn’t it……sigh. A tour of the redecorations followed (all looking very nice so far) and we cast our votes in the match pot elections taking place in the hall stairs and living room constituencies. In honour of our visit there was a huge fireworks display before dinner, which was rather hospitable of the good burghers of Kidlington I must say. In the melée to get back afterwards Keith went missing and, in the manner of nervous parents, Ishbel, Martin and I all went to stand at the park gates peering at every old codger who passed. (Needless to say Keith’s phone was switched off.) Ishbel was about to panic when he finally shambled into view, with the self satisfied air of a toddler who has discovered the biscuit jar, having decided in his wisdom to take an alternative route.

Next day, Martin took us for a tour of Magdalen College. It is rather glorious. I can quite see how some people drift into academia and never leave. We strolled around the water meadows first, nodding to the chattering ducks and snooty herons. The dons have their own herd of deer there, which provides venison for high table. So as not to upset the undergrads the area is closed off “for repairs” whenever the man with the rifle comes to call. All around tall trees were positively festooned with mistletoe and I wondered whether romantic swains would climb up for some later in the season. I do hope so. The quads were, of course, very elegant, the borders full of the metallic spent heads of hydrangea. I have booked myself in for a summer visit to see them at peak blowsiness. Whilst Martin showed Keith an historic pub or two, Ishbel and I explored the covered market to see here favourite emporia. We regrouped for pre-dinner snacks in a positively perfect old fashioned cafe of the all day breakfast and toasted tea cake variety. That settled it. We shall definitely not be moving to Oxford as I fear I should become broke and balloon-shaped very rapidly indeed.

Back home, in the woods on Saturday I found everything had turned to a sizzling orange whilst we were away. Inspired, I set to to plant up some pots with the zingy tulips now starting to sprout in their box in the shed. I managed about 30 before the weather chased me in. I turned my hand to scented candle making with an easy conscience, thinking I would get a whole lot more done today. Alas, in a double whammy, this morning I found the bedding plants in the designated pots still flowering and then, before I’d sorted out a fall back position, the rain started again. Everything was bundled back into the shed and my hopes are now pinned on Monday’s more optimistic forecast.