The word “perfect” is so often overused, especially by a captain of hyperbole such as myself, but I can imagine no better way to spend a Saturday (after a week of sitting and studying) than to go for a long walk through wheat fields and dappled sunlight, happy dogs dashing along the path. Expatriating doesn’t sound like such a bad idea if it means donning some wellies and a tweed coat to amble into the countryside, a hound at my heels.
We set out early from Oxford but began walking through the Cotswolds, a cluster of picturesque villages and rolling countryside, around 11. Our intrepid director led the walk, along with his adorable teenage children (quoted above) and black labs, who scampered along the path (off lead!), waited patiently for their masters, responded when called, chased deer, swam in ponds, and collapsed in a delighted heap at lunch. The walk took us on grassy meadow paths, past a medieval church, through some sticky and slippery mud, to a wonderful local pub with delicious sandwiches and a garden for post-lunch napping in the sun, down a patch riddled with stinging nettles (level 3 bushwhack, at least), into a wheat field, and finally (nearly ten miles later, they say) through the town of Charlbury and back home on the train.
It made me tired but sun-kissed and happy, nettles and all.
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