Saturday 28 January,

Another Burns Night party - but this time three days late and in the village hall in Wanstrow with over 120 people.  It was my first time in this newish hall, built with a bit of lottery money and good enough to be proud of.  It was a fund raiser for a parish of five churches in which my hosts play a leading role.
The arrangements were tops for quality and the ten people at my table were too - all good fun.  The caterers bottled out by supplying what was basically Christmas dinner+haggis.  They shied away from the full Scotch obviously supposing that Sassenachs would recoil in horror (perhaps rightly) as the 'great chieftain o' the puddin' race was not up to the standard of the last one I described form Dingwall.

Then came the ceremony with some good lines on the violin followed by a catch of Celtic song.  Between these good bits was boring recitation not helped by the sound system.  When there was a pause for regrouping, I took flight.  Next day I was told I left two hours before the end and they  wished they had done likewise but their cars were blocked by intensive parking.  I don't often do the savvy thing but on this occasion I had parked at the pub across the road so was well placed for the road home.

Sunday 29 January,

I walked to the Three Horseshoes in Batcombe which is less than 2 miles from home - steep up and  steeper down but with a stretch on top when you can see from Alfred's Tower to Glastonbury Tor -say 15 miles as the crow flies but more by road. The first is a folly 1772 by Henry Hoare of Stourhead on which estate it stands. It is of brick and 160 feet high on a land about 700 feet above sea level so is visible for miles around. Some think it was a vanity project looking for an excuse but others say it marks the site where King Arthur gathered contingents from the West, his stronghold, and the South before going on to Eddington, just north of Westbury where in 878 he fought and defeated Guthrun, the King of the Danes and converted him to Christianity.  The following treaty of Wedmore established the line, roughly from London to Manchester dividing the Saxons, south and west of it from the Danelaw, north and east of it.  It was along either side of this border that Anglo-Saxon lost its three genders and six case endings thus paving the way for what is  still Europe's only language without genders - English.  Though the languages either side of the line had distant common origins they had  grown too far apart for mutual understanding.  It seems they found it more natural to extend their vocabulary than to learn the grammar of Beowulf.  Our Norman conquerors officially outlawed the native speech for 300 years while still returning to France to find brides.  After Joan of Arc they were no longer able to do so and therefore started to marry the Saxon nobility and a new language was born in the bedroom. 

The Tor is early 1300's, on a prominence of 417 ft and height of about 50 ft.  Though smaller than the Tower, its visual impact is greater because of the almost sea level base of the unnaturally conical hill which it crowns.  In 1539 the last Abbot, Richard Whiting was dragged to the top and with two of his monks, hung, drawn and quartered, their  heads put on spikes to be publicly reviled.  He was a good man but the wealth and power  of Glastonbury, second only to Westminster in Britain, aroused even stronger feelings than bankers do now.

  It is a good example of the pleasures of being on foot because I can't think of a spot on the road where this splendid sight can be seen.  I have found that it reliably wow's visitors and a few natives who have not previously bothered to get out of their cars.

I hardly went to this pub under the previous owners and on my first visit to the present owner I introduced myself.  He politely replied my name is Kav.' Odd name, I said, what is your surname? Javvi - just as odd I replied. 'My dad is Persian and my mother  is Scouse and half Chinese'.  Then he looked at me intently and said 'so no chance that I will be the village idiot', clearly implying that my narrower gene pool and advancing years exposed me to this possibility.  Repartee with well mannered bright people is fun.

I was warming to him so continued to ask questions.  He comes from Chiswick, went to Hill House prep school and Malvern.  'Posh stuff' and then straight into the trade? I asked.  Reply: just because you see a chap behind a bar you assume he is uneducated!  Well, did you go to university?  Yes.  Nottingham, media studies 2:2, I taunted. 'Leeds, civil engineering, 2:1' he  retorted - plainly pleased to have won that round.

Monday/Tuesday30/31 January,

Gillingham Dorset to Norbiton (not heard of it) nr Kingston-upon-Thames - with three closely timed changes in two hours.  The longest wait was at Surbiton and I was surprised to see fast trains following with about a minute between them.  I knew this happens in Japan, I didn't  know it did on South  West Trains - new  respect.  Without 'thetrainline.com' I would not have known this permutation of  trains was possible.
I was a guest, dinner B&B, of friends I knew in my days as the founder/publisher of Admap - a semi technical monthly mag for market research and media people. He was a top ad agency guy. Next morning was the funeral of the wife of a mutual friend of long standing, in the parish church at Weybridge.  He was a MD of one of the independent commercial TV companies before they became ITV.

Funerals, I think, are  more fun than weddings where you often know less than half those present but you know many more at a friend's funeral and after the proper bit a good party can develop, and it did.  It also brought to mind the distance between my circumstances and the life I lead with theirs - 1930's homes in the leafier 'burbs' rather than 'dinky, dingley dell' 1660's in remote Somerset, over a mile from my nearest neighbours - landlord apart.  They have superior comfort and amenities but I have become used to my relative poverty combined with superior beauty and quiet.  We are an adaptable species and we get to like what we've got.

Wednesday  1 February,
The most eccentric pub I know is called Tucker's Grave at Faulkland between Frome and Radstock.  Legend has  it that 'Tucker' is buried beneath a flagstone at the entrance and another man was killed in the outdoor loo which was too near the road and was hit by a car.  They moved it (the loo).
There is one room where everybody sits and talks as if invited to a party.  Very old-fashioned - no food except crisps and pork scratchings and drinks are draught ale or two draught ciders. On arrival you feel as if you are breaking into a private party.  On this occasion one man was very drunk but not noisy and a young black man was with him and another guy who was small, dark, noisy and a singer of some sort.  The drunk man was the head chef at the highly rated Babington House -apparently not on duty that night.  A local farmer was teasing him beautifully - quite an entertainment.

Among a certain set there had been sorrow because the place shut for 12 weeks, after which the long time owners couldn't sell it and missed their wonderfully odd life, so re-opened it to the relief of many good people.  The elderly owners, man and wife, both sit in the room with you and rise to fetch drinks when they spot an empty glass.  I was there to meet a man I had only once met before, about eight years ago with an eye to discussing business.  When he discovered I was once Admap (magazine) over 20 years ago, his story began where mine left off.  He is only 40 years old and made his way in the areas Admap was revealing to a wider public as I  sold it.  We still knew many of the same people but apart from reminiscing I am not sure it will lead anywhere but we plan to meet again next month.  Its odd how paths can cross, long ways from home and he is plainly a good guy.