The House Sit in Retrospect

My last day in Cheshire. The house sit is coming to an end, so time for a report. 

Eighteen days have run by without incident. No water pipes have burst, no electrical equipment has blown up, no animals have perished. That sounds like a successful house-sitting stint in anyone's language.

Annie, my canine companion, and I have become good friends. We've walked in the mornings and evenings around this lovely area greeted sometimes by some of the four-legged neighbours.

Annie and I have not always seen eye to eye about the polite way to greet other dogs/cats. She maintains that rushing up to them with me flying along behind is quite acceptable. I've pointed out (with the help of a rolled newspaper) that it's far nicer to nod and walk on past. She's mostly conceded that this may be all for the best.

My arrival in Cheshire coincided with the arrival of ex hurricane Bertha, sent swiftly across the Atlantic from the general direction of Nova Scotia. Bertha had a considerable amount of water that she wanted to rid herself of and has proceeded to do just that off and on for the whole time I've been here. Today is bright and sunny and I'm hoping Bertha isn't planning to wring out the last of her wet washing over Norfolk where I'll be heading tomorrow.

I've had ten days out of eighteen where I've been out and about, with a coat just in case, so I can't complain about that. Often it rained overnight and cleared up during the day. Or the morning would be wet and the afternoon dry or the other way round.

A half hour in one direction lies the vast area of Greater Manchester with the old industrial city at its heart. A half hour in the other direction lies the starkly beautiful moorlands of the Pennine Range. The whole region alive with history and stunning scenery. I couldn't have asked for a better location for house sitting in Cheshire.

Tomorrow I bid farewell to Annie the dog, Fennel the invisible cat, and the five chooks who are addicted to dandelion leaves and have required me to eat more eggs than I'd normally eat in six months. I'll set the sat nav for Reedham on the River Yare in Norfolk and hope to take today's sunshine with me.

Where to, and why?

Stick a pin in the map of Great Britain and you'll probably hit an interesting spot. So how to decide which of these places to visit? There's an assumption amongst some of my buddies that I'll be filling my days looking at gardens. My question to them is: does a school teacher want to visit schools when she's on holiday? Does an engineer want to peer at the support structure of every bridge he sees? Does an architect want to spend her free time looking at buildings? No, all these people pick out the best of the best: the school that is innovative and high-achieving, the ancient bridge that stands true and solid, the building that makes the heart sing just to look at it. And so it is for me with gardens, I only want to see the best.

So if not gardens, then what? When it comes right down to it I guess I'd have to say it's books. I don't mean that I'm flying all the way to England to spend my time in bookshops, pleasant as that may be. What I mean is the places I know from books. Not just grown-up's books but children's books. Having to grow up is one of life's great tragedies but fortunately you can keep the essence of childhood in your heart if you try hard enough. How lovely it would be to be ten years old forever.

But, London is not for children. Children belong in the countryside and the seaside; so, for the first nine days, I'll have to pretend to be a grown-up. Stay tuned to find out what the grown-up me is up to in London between the 11^th and the 19^th of July.

There follows a week in the city of Matthew Arnold's 'dreaming spires', Hardy's 'Christminster' and Colin Dexter's 'Morse': the inspiring city of Oxford. It's also the city of 'Alice' who sat by the river one lazy summer's afternoon and spied a white rabbit.

While in Oxford, I'll be participating in a week-long summer school at Christ Church, the last word in Oxford colleges. Myself and five other not-quite-grownups will spend the week seeking the real 'Alice', daughter of the Dean of Christ Church, and Lewis Carroll—who imagined 'Alice in Wonderland' and put it all in a book.

Next stop, West Sussex where I'll be looking for the Devil's Punchbowl, setting for Monica Edwards' engaging children's books about the family of Punchbowl Farm. While I'm down south I can slip over to Kent to re-visit the wonderful garden at Sissinghurst Castle, and venture into Surrey to find 'Merry Hall', one-time home of author and man-about-town, Beverley Nichols, who's whimsical books about his gardens make one want to rush out and plant a tree.

And then north to Lincolnshire. Why Lincolnshire? Because I haven't been there. During the week I plan to visit the fabulous Lincoln Cathedral, and do some cycling in the fen country.

Heading west from Lincolnshire I'll arrive in Macclesfield, Cheshire, for the 2 ½ week house sit. Annie the dog, Fennel the cat and three chooks (un-named?) will be putting their health and wellbeing in my hands. Best of luck guys. Macclesfield is just a stones-throw from the delights of the Peak District National Park and from the Duke of Devonshire's impressive pile: Chatsworth House.

With just five days left I'll spend four of them in Reedham and surrounds on the River Yare, where Arthur Ransome's young sailors had a close shave at the railway bridge in 'Coot Club'.

And so eight weeks will have flown by and a train from Cambridge will whisk me back to London for a last day in the capital. Then it's goodbye Piccadilly, farewell Leicester Square …