The Cotswolds, today, is a little cooler than Hampshire.

Yesterday, we travelled along the M40 to Chipping Norton, where we are holidaying.

It was the same route we travelled many times in our year of renting Corn Close Cottage in Aston Magna, near Moreton in Marsh, 16 years ago. You turn off at junction 9 and wind through pretty golden/honeyed stone villages. The window frames are often painted a cool lichen or grey, which offsets the warmth of the stone. There is the odd grand house in each town. And the intermittent stone gate or lodge suggests a large country house at the end of a treelined drive.

The countryside is a neat patchwork quilt of green and golden fields. Harvest is taking place right now. We passed fields of golden round wheat bales.

We met up with Barrington and Sarah Burles on arrival, and caught up over a cuppa. Many years ago, they invited us to stay with them at a pretty honey coloured farm house near Entrecasteaux, in the Var region of Provence, in southern France. Barry had holidayed with the British owners as a teenager. And, as a newlywed, he had been lent the house with his beautiful wife, Sarah.

We had a wonderful week eating at local brasseries and soaking up the translucent light of the region, the same light that inspired Cezanne and Van Gogh.

There was a basic local restaurant  run by two handsome French brothers, that Barry had formed a friendship during his first visit. We often ate the simple food there, drinking the local vino. It felt exotic and foreign. The evenings were balmy and hot. It was my first overseas summer holiday, following our honeymoon in Italy.

In truth, I was a little intimidated by the sophistication of it all. I had no mastery of French. “Please” and “thank you”, with an Aussie accent, was the sum of it. Geoff studied French at Uni, so he was able to show off his perfect accent. I tried to take a crash course in French before the trip, but Geoff’s verdict was that I was “linguistically dyslexic.” A sore point even to this day. I have never let him forget his lack of encouragement.

Entracasteaux’s architecture was reminiscent, in my mind, of the Cotswolds’ architecture that I later discovered, but with a French twist. The same warm, golden stone, was utilised. The 16th century castle, which dominated the town up on the hill, gave the town a noble feel.

There is a local manor in the Cotswolds, Chastleton, which is in the middle of nowhere. It is a one of England’s finest Jacobean houses, completed in 1602. It is clearly British, but again the same golden stone.

 

I love that warm stone. It reminds me of sunshine in a cool climate.

Today, we are going to drive to Corn Close Cottage and take a trip down memory lane.