In which I journey to the towns of Woodstock and Chipping Norton
As My Esteemed Colleage had encouraged me to take some time away from Oxford and although I was more than content in my wondrous snuggery I took the opportunity to hop on an omnibus to journey further into the Cotswolds to the towns of Woodstock and Chipping Norton.
I know that Woodstock has associations with some sort of raucous music festival but thankfully there was no evidence of the mud spattered hippies that one sees in photographs disporting themselves in the fields during this tawdry bacchanal. Hollyhocks bloomed on the doorsteps of thatched cottages and I continually expected bonnetted ladies in charming Regency muslin dresses to burst from every door carrying ribbon or muffs or whatever Regency ladies bought in quaint little shops. Alas none did.
Both Woodstock and Chipping Norton had a charming little High Street filled with quaint shops and tea rooms and I passed the day happily browsing the numerous thrift shops, acquiring a decorative Copland and Garratt dish of about 1850 and a small piece of Isle of Wight glass in the processes. The ludicrously picturesque town of Chipping Norton slopes down a steep hill and I wandered away from the High Street and found the local church which was completely free of people. The whole effect of the lush grass growing about the tombstones that dated from the 17th and 18th centuries was beautiful and the church produced just the right feeling of pensive melancholia, tempting me to write another ode, but, you will be glad to hear, I did not.
Chipping Norton also boasted an antiquarian bookshop and I found a complete folio edition set of the erudite works of that great literary giant, PG Wodehouse and bought the entire Jeeves collection for a song. Alas it weighs a mighty amount and I am in terror lest it puts me over the travel weight limit, but I simply had to have them. I also found a folio copy of that inestimable work of great fiction, “The Diary of a Nobody”, as I thought that The Don might enjoy it as a small thank you gift for all he had done for us. It also seemed apposite given these memoirs of yours truly.
Weighed down with booty, the coach rumbled through the hedgerows, as did indeed my stomach for I realised that I had dined on nothing but beauty all day. And so back to Oxford just in time for me to meet the students and take them to Magdalen for The Don to reveal its wonders to us all.
All of Papa Bouilloire’s adventures can be found by clicking HERE.
Photo Challenge: Door