Wednesday, June 20, 2007
A Very Big House In The Country
We visited Chatsworth House today. FFA and Charlie did a flying tour of the inside, but the rest of us headed straight for the gardens.
They're beautiful – flowers, more flowers, me and Girlfriend forming a human sundial - and we were especially taken with the maze.
It was funny to wander blindly for ages making absolutely no progress, bumping into the same people again and again, all faring similarly badly. It was one of those “It's not the destination, it's all about the journey” metaphores.
I tend to get a bit ratty and impatient if I don't achieve what I've set out to do within, say, ten minutes: I'd sooner do without than wait that long to be served in a bar or library, for instance, so I'm sure left to my own devices I'd never have made it to Maze Central.
Here's a man on a horse.
I love formal gardens, me.
JP umpired from a safe distance.
We stopped in Bakewell on the way back, to pick up some tarts.
Standing around while FFA used the cashpoint, we were approached by a thrusting young man dressed as a monk who addressed us as “Dudes and Duderinos.”
The only rational response I could think of was to smile and walk away smartish, which I did, but the others lingered. They spend their working lives arguing the toss with nutcases and charlatans, so for them I guess it was a busman's holiday thing.
In a previous life I'd have spent half an hour disagreeing vehemently with everything he said, before finally giving him all my money in exchange for an armful of booklets about Eastern spiritualism and the importance of surrendering Earthly goods, so in my book I'm calling that progress.
JP, who is a kind and trusting soul, gave him a quid for one of his books and a chat about his home town.
In the pub afterwards, we agreed that it was quite likely JP's money would soon be spent in a bar, but as we didn't see it for ourselves we can't be entirely certain.
Not even Leonard Cohen can ruin a good game of Call 'Em All.
They're beautiful – flowers, more flowers, me and Girlfriend forming a human sundial - and we were especially taken with the maze.
It was funny to wander blindly for ages making absolutely no progress, bumping into the same people again and again, all faring similarly badly. It was one of those “It's not the destination, it's all about the journey” metaphores.
I tend to get a bit ratty and impatient if I don't achieve what I've set out to do within, say, ten minutes: I'd sooner do without than wait that long to be served in a bar or library, for instance, so I'm sure left to my own devices I'd never have made it to Maze Central.
Here's a man on a horse.
I love formal gardens, me.
JP umpired from a safe distance.
We stopped in Bakewell on the way back, to pick up some tarts.
Standing around while FFA used the cashpoint, we were approached by a thrusting young man dressed as a monk who addressed us as “Dudes and Duderinos.”
The only rational response I could think of was to smile and walk away smartish, which I did, but the others lingered. They spend their working lives arguing the toss with nutcases and charlatans, so for them I guess it was a busman's holiday thing.
In a previous life I'd have spent half an hour disagreeing vehemently with everything he said, before finally giving him all my money in exchange for an armful of booklets about Eastern spiritualism and the importance of surrendering Earthly goods, so in my book I'm calling that progress.
JP, who is a kind and trusting soul, gave him a quid for one of his books and a chat about his home town.
In the pub afterwards, we agreed that it was quite likely JP's money would soon be spent in a bar, but as we didn't see it for ourselves we can't be entirely certain.
Not even Leonard Cohen can ruin a good game of Call 'Em All.

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