Ramblings

I know I've said this a dozen times before, but it was such a perfect day, hot, still and quiet with a clear blue sky, the sort of day that makes you feel not just happy but privileged to be alive. If only they could all be like this, but enough of them are. September 11th, and it was already 23 degrees. We set off early to pick the large crop of blackberries I'd discovered the evening before on our extensive rambles over the fields. Sarah and her sister were just on their way to the harvest festival as the church bells rang out summoning the faithful, and we exchanged greetings. We were off to our own harvest festival, but I didn't know quite how productive our foraging would be. OK, let's get this over and done with: as I sauntered along in the heat, reaching out for the plumpest, ripest berries and dropping them into my tupperware, aware of Hugo's vague presence but mostly oblivious to everything else, the very worst possible thing happened. No, the very worst thing would have been the hare killing Hugo. He must have caught it unawares as it happened about 50 feet from me, around a corner, and I saw nothing. No racing across the acres to the death, it was sudden and swift. And dreadful. But it's in his genes, and he could no more resist chasing a small furry animal than I could, um - no, there's no comparison. I'm mostly in control of my impulses. Moving on then. I dispatched it into the dark Stygian depths of the ditch, now tinder dry and lined with bracken and grass and wild flowers, and the exposed root system of trees. Only minutes before I'd been thinking how much I'd like to climb into it and walk along the bottom, a hidden world but still beautiful. I was shocked and sickened by what he had done, really shaken, but he was gentle and obedient again, still Hugo.

We met Stewart and his son Sebastian who are renting the farmhouse now that Alice and her family have moved to another property on the Kindred estate. We were also properly introduced to Toby, the evil chihuahua who yaps like a mad thing when we pass by and charges at Hugo's legs with his fangs bared, overtures of friendship rebutted viciously. And Oliver, the cheerful black German pointer who is his opposite. Amazingly, Toby began wagging his tail as we stood and chatted, though I'm not putting my hand anywhere near him. Hopefully he'll be more friendly in future.

On duty in the church yesterday, a cyclist from Cratfield came in and we got chatting. I know the village well from playing bridge in the Poacher pub on a Tuesday night for years, and visiting friends there, and of course the wonderful classical concerts held over six Sundays in summer, when the music and performers are brilliant, but are slightly eclipsed by the home-made cakes served in the interval. How many lovely Sunday afternoons I've spent sitting on a gravestone or the grass with a cup of tea and a giant slice of Victoria sponge, some piano concerto or Schubert quartet replaying through my mind. Anyway, he told me about the lead that was stolen from the church roof, just one of eleven in the vicinity including Denington a few miles down the road. The thief was caught because a glove left behind at the scene was later found to have his wife's DNA on it. Who'd have believed it? A future storyline for the Archers maybe. He's a Latvian living in Coventry, currently serving eight months behind bars. Had they been able to pin the other thefts on him he might have got eight years.

We went on to have a busy day. Ruth had been invited to a private viewing of an art exhibition in the next village to me where a London company called Printroom have moved their business. The art was good, but the tea and home-made cakes - there I go again - were even better, and we had two slices each. When I spotted Leo from Leo's Deli in Fram  hovering around the teapot I knew the food was going to be good.  From there we went to Aldeburgh where Humphrey Burton was giving a talk on the forthcoming operas in the Live From the Met productions. He illustrated it with clips from all the listed operas - not the ones we'll be seeing but his favourites videos from the past. So we had a very young Kiri Te Kanawa, a youthful Pavarotti, Renee Fleming before she had her lips frozen with Botox, and other fresh faces from another time. It was glorious, finishing with the trio from Der Rosenkavalier. I just made it into the chippie before the blinds went down and the closed sign went up, and Hugo and I scoffed the lot in record time. Ruth was disdainful. She's on a diet. Yes, after two slices of cake she is.