Coln St Aldwyns

I am struggling to get writing today. Even a blog entry seems beyond me. Still, here goes.

We spent last weekend in Coln St Aldwyns to celebrate Rick's birthday. We were in the heart of the Cotswolds. Every person that we met had a ruddy complexion, spoke with a cut-glass accent and was very friendly. We went for a long walk on Saturday, via Bibury The highlight for Rick was when we passed by a cottage into a field, and a sheepdog (the Welsh variety) came flashing past us, grabbed a stick and sank down with it on the path in front of us. "Play with me!" Rick grabbed the stick and threw it. The dog returned the stick to the path in front of us. This went on ... and on ... and on. We were both distressed at the point at which we had to say "Go home!" and the dog obediently trotted off, tail and head down. As it headed straight for a barn, we guessed it belonged on the farm and wasn't really about to abscond with us.

On Sunday, we witnessed a delightful scene. After a walk around the village, we stopped at the post office. The lady in front of Rick, who had been jogging, demanded her copy of the Sunday Times and the Tatler, and could they put it on the Andrews account please? The Post Office was filling up fast, with similar requests being made. When we went back outside, the roads all around were full of four-wheel drives - all of which had pulled up to collect their Sunday paper.

What was lovely about the place was the lack of traffic noise. Although we love our village, it suffers from the constant roar of the M40. It was a delight to hear the call of the pheasant echoing into the distance, rather than competing with the roar of traffic.