"And so we came to Hetty Pegler's Tump...."

Once long ago, while I was getting ready for Oxbridge entrance exams, having spent a while on The Wasteland, our English lit group had a splendid time creating our own T.S Eliot pastiches. The offerings of the students were distinctly unmemorable, but I will always treasure this line from the masterpiece that the Head of English produced - and from then on harboured a longing to explore the beautifully named Hetty Pegler's tump, - which is in fact a long barrow here in this very county of Gloucestershire.

Today being Friday, I've been in non-vicaring mode (more or less). I did a little footling this morning, while waiting for the window cleaner to finish the twenty (oh dear me, yes, TWENTY!) vicarage windows - but otherwise, I've been keeping sabbath. The original plan was to go and do some work on the lovely Polyphony, who is currently leaking somewhat (though only through the roof, - and thus in no danger of sinking) but LCM has come down with a nasty dose of man-flu or thereabouts - so was holed up in the cave, leaving the Dufflepud and I free to do whatever.

We shared an idyllic picnic.
When was the last time someone else made up a picnic for you, dear readers? The Dufflepud is the recipient of his mother's undying gratitude - specially as he included all the necessities of a childhood picnic, from ham sandwiches to Chelsea buns, washed down with elderflower cordial- which we consumed sitting in the sunshine amid the wild flowers on top of the "tump"....
A deer, surprised by our presence, bounded off into the woodland, which has apparently grown up since the time the barrow was raised. All those years ago, there would have been clear views across the Severn into Wales...No chance of enemies creeping up on these hill dwellers. Ever the romantic, the Dufflepud had bought a candle and matches as well as his maglite, and together we crawled through the low arch into the first part of the barrow, lit the candle and peered into the shadows. Safety fences prevented deep exploration, but we stood in one of the ancient burial chambers, and touched stones shaped to stand there one thousand years before Christ walked in Galilee.We speculated about the lives and deaths of those who had been buried here. Chieftains, we guessed, to merit such an imposing resting place.
With the noise of the road barely a murmur,we lay looking up at a kestrel, lazily circling overhead...

For some reason,blogger is refusing to allow me to move pictures to sensible places...Just think creatively, OK?

And another one....LLLL24

I guess its somewhere about now that you realise that actually 6 weeks is quite a long time, and not only have I slipped terminally from all the focussed prayer and quality time with God that I had so fervently intended this Lent, but even the LLLL activities seem to be beyond me.
Today was, in theory, my day off so the task

"Visit your local park and then write to the council and tell them what you thought about it"

ought to have been quite manageable.

However, thanks to a study morn on the Resurrection (v.g), and a parish Lent course tonight(slightly uninspiring) , the day didn't actually feel that re-creative (with the glorious exception of a lovely lunch time with special friend - some things are always just what you need). What's more, when I got home from the school run, the dogs had managed to break the cat flap so there was lots of faffing about and not alot of joy in Privet Drive.
Actually, unless you count the recreation ground immediately opposite Privet Drive, I suspect there's minimal chance of of my getting anywhere near anything resembling a park for a long while...and, to be honest, if I did have time, I'd rather get out of town altogether.

Of course, there's always Crickley Hill Country Park - one of my most favourite of all dog walks. I could write a very nice letter about that, and the views of Gloucestershire from the escarpment....Do you think that might count instead?

In other news

One thing that priests, and everyone else indisputably needs is time off with people they love in places that speak to them.

HG had had a rather stressful start to this term, what with exams and the inevitable switch-backs of student life, and I've known easier months myself, so yesterday was decreed a holiday for both. Atypically, I actually left Ch Kings bright and early,- only to be thwarted in my progress by cataclysmic traffic chaos around Gloucester, with a stretch of the ring-road closed altogether, and diversions sending us all off into the countryside. I was only marginally fussed by this, until I realised that the diversion I was following had led me back into the chaos a few miles further on, this time heading in the wrong direction, with no possibility of a turn-around.
So it was that 2 hours after leaving home I found myself only 4 miles from Cheltenham, driving away from my goal...
Is this, I wonder, in any way a paradigm of life??

If so,- there's hope for recovery!
I did eventually get to Cardiff and HG and I decamped to the nearest stretch of real coast...at Barry. In the summer, I fear that the assorted tourist attractions will make this a Very Unpleasant Experience, but on the last day of January it was just perfect. We were one of 3 cars in the carpark, and apart from a couple of distant dogs and their owners, we had the whole beach to ourselves. It was really fun to walk across the tidal harbour, nearly up to the boats that are "moored" there. Hard to believe that they'll float off at high water, but the wet sea-weed on the harbour wall was proof that they would. Not really beached high and dry, no matter how it might appear.

When things get too much for me, please someone remind me that what I really need is a day by the sea.