Calm after the storm

It's a beautiful Autumn morning in Great Somerford, and what's left of the coppery golden leaves hang from the trees like cascades of brightly polished pennies. A sharp contrast to the last few days of high winds and lashing rain. The river is right up to the banks – in places it's lapping right over – and just yesterday, I heard a dog had to be rescued by his owner after finding himself in a rapid current, unable to make his own way back to the shore.

Radio Wiltshire somehow picked up on Adam's Bank Aid escapde and asked him to come over to the studio for a drive-time interview. Sadly, Adam's car had other ideas and was last seen with a plume of smoke coming out of the engine somewhere along the hard shoulder of the M4. At least I'm assuming it was the engine and not Adam's ears. Understandably, he was not best pleased. Mike somehow managed to get to the studio, though, and was great (although I can't say the same for the snatch of music they played) - I have an MP3 of the interview if anyone missed it and would like a listen.

Those people who managed to brave the weather to Katie Mayhew's fundraising coffee morning for the Sondeza Youth Camp were not disappointed. Not only were there a fabulous selection of cakes to be drooled over (I wish I hadn't had so much breakfast) but it was also an opportunity to see some of Katie's breathtaking photographs featuring images from Botswana, Northumberland, Lacock and her own back garden. Believe me, watch this space. That girl has serious talent.

There was also a Jazz and Poetry evening at Startley Village Hall last night featuring my dear friend T and several other poets from the Somerford Scribes. Unfortunately, I was unable to go – I was sorry to have missed it; it promised to be a great evening.

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I know I've expressed some views that not everyone agrees with, but honestly they were sincerely held, not personal in any way, shape or form and I really had the best of intentions at heart. They say you can't make an omelette without breaking eggs... Trouble is, I'm not altogether sure I actually like omelettes all that much...

Although it's been nice today, I understand the storms are coming back next week. We're not out of the woods yet...

Bank Aid. In which I appear to be chanelling Adam. Scary...

Well we're nothing if not topical in Frog Lane. So with the breaking news that RBS has just reported record losses at a cost of an average of £30 to each taxpayer last month, local philanthropist Adam Lloyd (aka The Twisted Omentum) decided he had to do something. So he invited a few celebrity friends round to his Frog Lane studio one evening with the promise of a free drink... (And we all know there's no such thing as a free drink...)



Could this be the next Christmas No 1? Possibly in Great Somerford. But only if The Fruitbats don't realease something first...

Ain't no stopping us now - Adam's already talking about scratch super-band(Keb)Abba recording a Wiltshire version of Portaloo. (Well, Sweden, Swindon - it's only a difference of a couple of letters...)

No business like show business

Locals among you will know it was one of the highlights of our year in the Somerfords last Saturday, and I'm sorry I haven't got round to reporting back before now, but I've been – well, rather busy, one way and another.

It had been raining just about continuously for the three weeks before, and Emma, the Horse & Pony Secretary's, phone was hot from people ringing in from Hampshire, Herefordshire and Hertfordshire to find out whether it was still going to be on.

"Of course it'll still be on," she told them all blithely. "Well, you know that field..." It's true, there's something a bit magic about the Show Field. It can be bucketing down with rain for weeks, but somehow the water just drains away.

"It's always nice for the Show," said Debbie in the shop (mind you, I thought to myself, it wasn't last year...)

Anyway, it turned out that neither Emma's nor Debbie's unbridled optimism was misplaced, for Saturday morning dawned clear and bright and, apart from a bit of a puddle near the gate where the horseboxes had been coming and going since the crack of dawn, all was dry and the going, as racing people say, could not have been better.

Entries for the Industrial and Horticultural sections started arriving long before eight, and there was hot competition, particularly in the Men Only Sponge Cake class – I don't think I've ever seen such a large collection of Victoria Sandwiches in one place – big ones, small ones, supremely airy ones, ones with generously jammy fillings – and I'm beginning to wonder whether there aren't rather a lot of men about with perhaps a bit too much time on their hands. Either that, or a few with a very strong will to win...

John was looking confident as he arrived with his giant marrows, which had just been modest courgettes before he went away on holiday – it's amazing what three weeks of rain can do – clouds and silver linings and all that.





Onions were arranged, beans were assembled, jams, pickles, flower arrangements and pasta pictures were all brought along to impress the judges....







The little funfair was set up and before long sausages were sizzling and pink clouds of candy floss was being whirled round sticks sending sticky, sweet, savoury smells mingling with a top note of diesel as the dodgems were cranked up.


The door of the Horticultural tent was zipped firmly shut and everything went very quiet while the judges perused, deliberated, measured and compared – for what seemed like hours. And then, and then... Finally, the door was unzipped again and the crowds surged in to find out who had won the perpetual cup (Ross, as it turned out, and well-deserved, too), whose jams had passed muster and of course who had managed to produce the biggest marrow...





(sorry, Adam).




So much jam and so little time...


...and some very confused alpacas.




And, of course, I can't not mention the dog show (in which, yet again, there was a terrible travesty of justice in the Dog With the Waggiest Tail class, but I'll try my best to rise above it...) Best In Show was a very smart Grand Vendeen Griffon all the way from Oxford, and there was a well-deserved third in Most Appealing Eyes (well, if I'd have had two, it would obviously been a first...)

Village fate

Friday's Church Fete at Mills Farm went off without a hitch - well, not one that anyone would notice - and was a great success if exhaustion levels are anything to go by. Beans are being counted, but understand things are looking good, and we may be on track to rival the record takings of two years ago. Watch this space...

But it's not all about money. A lovely time was had by all - it didn't rain and Plum and James's garden looked gorgeous with its fabulous backdrop of clematis and climbing roses and the quintessentially English sound of the Wootton Bassett Brass Band. The animals were a big draw for the children - pony rides in the paddock and a clutch of fluffy two-week old chicks (who were finally rounded up into their box in the nick of time after nearly an hour trying to catch them all). A record number of books were flying off the shelves and some marvellous bargains were to be had on trinkets and White Elephant.

The older children from the Village School entertained us all with an interesting Lebanese-style dance, which went down particularly well with the children as it meant boys dancing with boys, girls dancing with girls and hand-holding with the opposite gender was kept to a minimum. There was a martial arts demonstration. A tug-of-war (I can't remember who won - it never really seems to matter and everybody always falls over at the end anyway), and it did not rain.

The Pimm's went down particularly well. Well, it did as far as I was concerned, thanks to Adam's determination to supply refreshment to the stallholders. Well, it's really just a bit of alcoholic fruit salad, isn't it?

Neighbours...

Radio Four's Today programme has been focussing this week on the subject of how well people know their immediate neighbours, and I've been astonished how many people have said they don't really know them very well at all. One of the best things, I think, about living in a small community several miles from your nearest Tesco or Asda, is the countless opportunities for getting to know the people next door. I'm not sure what I'd have done without Adam and Cheryl...

Things I've borrowed from Adam and Cheryl over the past year:

Four tomatoes
A two-ring electric hotplate
A Feng Shui book
A lawn-edging tool
A book about pickling and preserving
Some Borlotti beans
A tin of coconut milk
A small jar of cumin
A chainsaw
A small area of their allotment to house some potatoes
A pruning saw
Our spare keys (several times...)
A pair of tweezers to get the bit of my key that broke off out of the front door lock
Spare keys (again)
Car (plus driver) to get to Malmesbury when mine suddenly started to spout smoke
A pouch of cat food
Two cans of Stella (strictly speaking, these were for my husband, although I have to confess to taking the odd sip...)
Babysitting services
Car (plus driver) to get to sister's house in Wales and back
Cat-sitting services
Dog-walking services (when ill)
Child's shepherd outfit for school nativity play
A dongle (memory stick)
Sloe gin recipe
Small child's hat
Strong painkillers
Small bag of potatoes (no, that was Janice, and I have been meaning to return them...)

Things they've borrowed from us:

(er...)

I imagine you're probably thanking your lucky stars you don't live next door to me. Funnily enough, the house immediately next door to us has been on the market rather a long time...

The permissive society...

No, no – the Naked Rambler hasn’t yet reached these parts – at least, if he has, he hasn’t been spotted by me – I’m talking about permissive footpaths and the excellent news that we now have a new permissive footpath leading from the entrance to the Show Ground to the Red Hatches footbridge along the banks of the River Avon.



One of the very best things about living here is the impressive number of footpaths that wander lazily through some of the area’s loveliest scenery. There may not be many hills, or dramatic cliffs or prehistoric monuments as in other parts of the county, but there’s something very English about the tussocky rolling meadows that flank the meandering Bristol Avon as it wends its gentle way through the Somerfords, and the abundance of wildlife – both flora and fauna – to be found here. This time of year, the countryside is at its best: the Old Rectory's mighty candle-bedecked horse chestnuts dipping into the shallow river; hedgerows lined with frothy blackthorn, may and cow parsley, and if you’re lucky you might catch a glimpse of a young deer or two darting back into the cover by the old railway line, the turquoise flash of a kingfisher or a little owl flitting from a gnarled old hawthorn to the safety of the trees of Peter’s Wood.

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View from the allotments
Well, strictly speaking, this isn’t exactly a view FROM the allotments, so much as from the footpath THROUGH the allotments. Peering enviously over the serried ranks of runner bean poles, usually in the direction of Bernard’s asparagus, which is coming along nicely, and – thanks to Bernard’s generosity (well either that, or his uncanny ability to recognise a heavily dropped hint when he sees one) – I can also personally vouch for its exceptional deliciousness.



There I was thinking a seat on the Parish Council would be a passport directly to allotment heaven, but No Siree. No nepotism in this village (well, if there is, I haven’t managed to sniff it out yet. although be warned – no stone will be left unturned, no gatepost left unsniffed, appropriate measures taken and legs cocked accordingly). The trouble is, I’m being a bit fussy. I’ve asked for a plot up by the shop – well, you never know when you might feel the need for a packet of Bombay Mix or a Farmer’s Weekly, and when the urge strikes, it has to be addressed quickly – and the only free one seems to be smothered in weeds, which will need dousing thoroughly with John’s weedkilling apparatus (come on, John – chop chop, I haven’t got all year…)

But thanks to the kindness of strangers (well, not exactly strangers – I have to confess to a passing acquaintance with Adam and Cheryl over the occasional half of Moonlight in the Volly, not to mention many episodes of cat-sitting and the generous loan of a chainsaw and several hundred culinary items. Ok, ok - I know them quite well...) I’ve managed to find a temporary home for a couple of rows of early potatoes and a very small tomato plant. No takers for the rambling squash plants yet, which are currently bursting out of their seedling containers in our wood store, but I’m sure it’ll only be a matter of time… They are organic, you know…