Oh to be in Hidcote in the Spring......

One of the first open days in a National Trust treasure - Hidcote Gardens, the inspiration of American-turned-Brit Lawrence Johnson. Tucked away in the north Cotswolds, this truly is one of England's great gardens:

One of Hidcote's many 'rooms' 

Magnolia's, in their all-too-brief splendour, everywhere.

Now that's just bragging!

And trees galore......

The piano is still in transit......

I was mindful, during our most recent move (pray god it's our last!), of that great English comedian/cartoonist/ story-teller-par-excellence Gerard Hoffnung. He used to tell a hilarious story about a brick-layer, and I don't know why but as our piano movers struggled firstly with the grand piano, then the very next day, as our furniture movers dealt with the enormous French vitrine (cupboard with glass doors!), he and his story sprang to mind. We had to laugh at these 2 disasters, or we would have cried. The piano only made it up the first flight of stairs when the movers cried uncle, and back down the stairs it went; the vitrine did a lot better, thanks to Herculean efforts of these 3 movers - they too got stuck at the same point on the stairs, but, never say die, they carted it round to the side of the building, raised it, on the hydraulic ramp of their van, and literally hauled it through one of our giant windows. Brilliant, we all thought. Sadly, however, they had chosen the spare bedroom for its unwieldly entrance to the house, and none of us had measured the beast before embarking on this wild and woolly adventure: it turns out that inspite of our 10 feet 6 inch ceilings, the door frames are, shall we say, of a standard size; and then there are corridors, with some narrow turns....the upshot is that while the vitrine made it, sweatingly into the bedroom, its exit from same was impossible. So there it is, a unwelcome guest in our otherwise inviting guest bedroom!! The conclusion to these ventures - piano and vitrine - will ensue;   it may be Christmas before the ensuing  is complete, but I am assured, complete they will be.

Meanwhile, I could not leave you without reproducing that same Gerard Hoffnung story that we began with. Sweet dreams!

THE BRICKLAYER'S STORY by Gerard Hoffnung I've got this thing here that I must read to you. Now, this is a very tragic thing... I shouldn't, really, read it out. A striking lesson in keeping the upper lip stiff is given in a recent number of the weekly bulletin of 'The Federation of Civil Engineering Contractors' that prints the following letter from a bricklayer in Golders Green to the firm for whom he works. Respected sir, when I got to the top of the building, I found that the hurricane had knocked down some bricks off the top. So I rigged up a beam, with a pulley, at the top of the building and hoisted up a couple of barrels of bricks. When I had fixed the building, there was a lot of bricks left over. I hoisted the barrel back up again and secured the line at the bottom and then went up and filled the barrel with the extra bricks. Then, I went to the bottom and cast off the rope. Unfortunately, the barrel of bricks was heavier than I was and before I knew what was happening, the barrel started down, jerking me off the ground. I decided to hang on! Halfway up, I met the barrel coming down... and received a severe blow on the shoulder. I then continued to the top, banging my head against the beam and getting my fingers jammed in the pulley! When the barrel hit the ground, it burst it's bottom... allowing all the bricks to spill out. I was now heavier than the barrel and so started down again at high speed! Halfway down... I met the barrel coming up and received severe injury to my shins! When I hit the ground... I landed on the bricks, getting several painful cuts from the sharp edges! At this point... I must have lost my presence of mind... because I let go of the line! The barrel then came down... giving me a very heavy blow and putting me in hospital! I respectfully request 'sick leave'.

Dogs, dogs and more dogs!

Hairy ones....

Beagley ones.....

So truly English and rural - the Ragley Hall Game Fair. Apparently the largest in the UK, so of course we had to go. What a treat! 

Apart from Crufts and the Westminster dog shows, I cannot imagine any other place where you would feel such an outsider for not owning, and trailing behind you, one or more dogs!

Everywhere!

Foxy ones...

Sadly, there was no Terrier Racing - our favourite country show event - imagine, when it does happen, maybe 50 of these little hairy chaps, none of them any bigger than a large cat, racing across a field in pursuit of I know not what, but apparently loving it. It could only happen in the countryside!

The Pony Club in full swing!

We did of course sit show jumping, some falconry, the Bear Gryll's survival course (only for the young and very stupid!), free fishing in the lake, and all this amid the constant rat-rat-rat of shooting.

The county set were in resplendent display, with their jodhpurs, tweeds and a general air of pampered indulgence. Even more remarkably, for this very 'variable' English summer, the sun shone, the whole time.

Fishing for all!

And there has to be Hunter Wellies!!

Even the Rugby chaps were there....

 

Irene, and another dog!

And so we trudged our way back to the car, which seemed to be miles away, and inevitably we had....mislaid it. But no, there it was, at the very beginning of the car park! That's 2 county shows in as many weeks. Think we'll pass for the rest of the season!