The Rolling English Road

Partly because I can't wander the roads as freely as I'd like just now (lower lip quivers pathetically), I have been thinking of a poem by G K Chesterton that I came across in my poetry-reading teens...

I took the photo at Kirkham Abbey a couple of years ago.

Before the Roman came to Rye or out to Severn strode,
The rolling English drunkard made the rolling English road.
A reeling road, a rolling road, that rambles round the shire,
And after him the parson ran, the sexton and the squire;
A merry road, a mazy road, and such as we did tread
The night we went to Birmingham by way of Beachy Head.

I knew no harm of Bonaparte and plenty of the Squire,
And for to fight the Frenchman I did not much desire;
But I did bash their baggonets because they came arrayed
To straighten out the crooked road an English drunkard made,
Where you and I went down the lane with ale-mugs in our hands,
The night we went to Glastonbury by way of Goodwin Sands.

His sins they were forgiven him; or why do flowers run
Behind him; and the hedges all strengthening in the sun?
The wild thing went from left to right and knew not which was which,
But the wild rose was above him when they found him in the ditch.
God pardon us, nor harden us; we did not see so clear
The night we went to Bannockburn by way of Brighton Pier.

My friends, we will not go again or ape an ancient rage,
Or stretch the folly of our youth to be the shame of age,
But walk with clearer eyes and ears this path that wandereth,
And see undrugged in evening light the decent inn of death;
For there is good news yet to hear and fine things to be seen,
Before we go to Paradise by way of Kensal Green.

G K Chesterton

After the summer

It's been a long, grey summer. It has also been an unintentionally quiet one. I had planned to bring you thrilling tales of Highland derring-do, and dreamy missives from beside the misty loch; unfortunately I have damaged both my plantar fascia so our trip to the Scottish Highlands, while lovely, was somewhat less mobile for me than I could have wished. There are only so many photos of views from the cottage you can take.



We stayed near Inveraray,



close to a waterfall and surrounded by mountains. Loch Fyne was nearby, and it was an easy drive to Oban for the distillery (delicious - I do like a single malt), and to Ardfern



for a boat trip to see the sea life around Jura, where George Orwell wrote "1984".


The sound of the Falls was a constant, soothing drone while I sat reading in the cottage and the rest of the family got tired and muddy tramping the hills.


Scotland is one of my favourite places to go on holiday. It's heart-stoppingly gorgeous, friendly, fascinating and varied. Consider if you will the options we had before us: the Highlands and Islands were the focus of our trip this year, but we could have gone to Edinburgh for the Castle and Old Town, the Fringe or the main Festival and Tattoo; to Glasgow for the 13 Museums including St Mungo's Museum of Religious Life and Art and the Burrell Collection; followed the Whisky Trail; gone north for the Aurora Borealis or the Loch Ness monster; in fact I had better stop before the Internet runs out! You will have gathered I like the place.

It's just that I wouldn't want to live there. It was a joy to come home. The rural areas are very rural and the cities are very, well, urban. They are both great to visit. However, what I want from life is a blend of the two - and I am sure it exists somewhere in Scotland although I haven't found it yet - where I can live quietly in the country but, in under an hour, get to a decent facility with reasonable choice or for an occasional shot of culture. Or a hospital. Or have a reasonable chance of an Internet connection. I like to take the middle path, never fully town nor country mouse, neither yin nor yang, but able to sample the full range of experiences life has to offer. I am not sure if that is indecisive or just keeping my options open...

Meanwhile, all praise to my local general store, Yates, which ordered specially my new boots to support my poor feet. I'm breaking them in now.
My doctor kindly explained that I will have to wear cushioned shoes now, probably forever, and that as DMs were made just for that he recommended purple. I love the NHS.