Cotswolds; probation

Completely failed to even attempt to read this month’s Book Group book, Lionel Shriver’s So Much for That, but went along anyway to listen to others’ opinions of it, coupled with more assurances that anyone who hasn’t yet read ‘Kevin’ really must as it’s the best book ever. I MIGHT, OK. Or I might not.

Little Hattons

Ruth and I decamped to the Cotswolds on Friday for a hastily-planned three-night break courtesy of English Country Cottages, after our positive experience with them back in March. As we had less time on this occasion my main criterion had been to go somewhere that didn’t involve excessive amounts of driving to get there, so we chose Little Hattons, in a village called Frampton Mansell a little way west of Cirencester. The drive there was uneventful until we actually arrived at the village and discovered that our destination was located at the bottom of a steep-sided valley accessed by a narrow road with hairpin bends attached. There was a brief tense moment when we became stuck on a muddy bank which I had lurched onto quickly to get out of the way of an approaching lorry of inappropriate size; after Ruth had suggested I tried rocking the car backwards and forwards, and I think I had inexcusably told her to shut the **** up unless she wanted to ****ing drive, we managed to break free and reach our holiday cottage, where I managed to pull the car off the road after only a brief contretemps with a wall. Will get the rear bumper sorted out at a later date.

Sugar success

Met briefly with the owner, a Mrs Gerrard, a dead posh relocated-to-the-country-from-London type, who showed us around the attractive 18^th century cottage and left us to it. We went to make tea and realised that neither of us had remembered to bring any sugar. Having given up sugar in tea for Lent in my teens and never gone back to it, it never occurs to me to pack it, so I absolved myself of responsibility. As I refused to drive another yard, we set out to walk to the neighbouring village of Oakridge, where the file of useful bumf in the cottage informed us that there was a shop. After staggering up some very steep roads, we eventually reached Oakridge, where the shop was not immediately obvious, but we eventually found it and Ruth purchased a bag of sugar. The following morning we discovered a supply of sugar in one of the kitchen cupboards.

By the Norman Arch

On the Saturday we elected to drive into Cirencester, to have a look at its medieval/Roman/country-pursuity-charms. Only ever been there once before, on a school trip to the Roman Museum, which I remember finding dull as ditchwater at the time. When we eventually got there after abandoning attempts to park in the town car parks and retreated to the temporary Park & Ride set up at Cirencester College (good idea, that), we veered off immediately into a Barbour suppliers, where Ruth purchased a jacket, after some banter with the salesman about the attractiveness or otherwise of the Liberty print lining. We had a wander around the Farmers Market, where I sampled some quince liqueur, and then the Christmas market, which had just opened. Had an extended wander around with a brief break for tea and cake. I made us visit the church in the Market Place, awash with Christmas trees inside, which was quite pretty, and the Abbey Grounds, which are somewhat underwhelming although I guess the Norman Arch is quite cute. Here I am leaning against it.

If you want to know more about Cirencester, you can consult the Cirencester website, apparently the most extensive source of Cirencester-related information on the Internet. As you'd expect really.

On the Sunday I persuaded Ruth that we really should go out for a walk to explore the surrounding countryside. Rather to my surprise, she agreed reasonably enthusiastically and we set out for a tramp along the towpath of the former (extremely former) Thames & Severn Canal, while chiding Ray for our newly-developed interest in canals. Allegedly, restoration of the canal is afoot, but there was no sign of that having reached the section we walked along. The canal, completed in 1789, apparently always suffered from problems with its water supply (bit of a core difficulty, that), exacerbated by the steep hill it had to climb from its western end near Stroud up into the Cotswolds to the Sapperton Tunnel, at the time it was built the longest canal tunnel in Britain. We walked past at least six disused locks in the comparatively short stretch we walked along, so the waterway evidently had some steep climbing to do.

The Crown at Frampton Mansell

We were both surprised at the lack of any fencing or even warning signs around the lock basins, which are empty but pretty deep and an unwary child or dog could easily come a cropper. Perhaps ‘Health & Safety’ hasn’t taken over as much as the anti-PC brigade would like to think. We had a peek at the castellated Daneway Portal, the western end of the Sapperton Tunnel, and then briefly visited the churchyard at Sapperton before walking back along the road to Frampton Mansell. Later that afternoon we went for a late lunch at The Crown, Frampton Mansell’s pub and apparently ‘the perfect traditional Cotswold venue’.

Spent a couple of cosy evenings, one watching the 80s movie How to Get Ahead in Advertising, which I don't think I'd ever seen but which was rather darker than I'd imagined, and the other spent watching back-to-back New Tricks. Undemanding stuff.

The weekend ended up, although not planned that way, being a celebration of us both passing our probations and being ‘signed off’ in our new roles. I had a brief interview with Judith last week, during which she complimented my calm, well-organised approach (as I am usually recognised at work for these qualities, such praise has started to pass over my head somewhat – am waiting to have such exciting words as ‘dynamic’ and ‘maverick’ attached to me, though those are admittedly not qualities necessarily required of someone in my sort of job role). Still, nice to get the official letter from Nick confirming my post. I have also been offered an extension of my contract to a three-year as opposed to the original two-year fixed term, which is good news. Ruth had a two-hour long meeting with her boss Patrick in a noisy café (they obviously do things differently in London) but she has been given the OK also. Hurrah.