Game season!

Mmmmm, autumn. Crisp clear mornings. Falling leaves in a riot of colours, red, yellow, gold. Open fires. Stunning sunsets. The markets aren't as full of furry dinners as they're gonna be...

but game season is here. Yum.

Delving into Witney History

My recent photographic adventures around Witney made me really curious about the history of our little town, so I did some digging.

The first time I came into Witney, the first thing I noticed was the massive church -serene at one end of a long village green - almost cathedral sized, and a total surprise in such a little town. There was obviously once a lot of wealth here, and from very early days: the current St Mary's Church building (above) was started in 1243, itself replacing stone and timber buildings that had stood for several hundred years. Witney's history stretches back even further: Oxfordshire's rolling hills were home to Bronze Age and Roman settlements (including the massive Roman villa at North Leigh), and Witney itself, named after ruling council of Saxon lords - the Witan, is named in documents from 969AD.

By 1044, land in the town was granted to the Bishops of Winchester by Queen Emma (wife of two kings - Ethelred the Unready and king Cnut, mother of tow others - Harthacnut and Edward the confessor - as well as great aunt to William the Conqueror), the grant confirmed in William's Domesday book in the 11th century.

The town's wealth came from milling: first corn (the town boasted at least 3 mills by 1220 AD) and later wool - especially after the Black Death in 1348 wiped out 60% of the population, leaving too few people to work the fields for crops, and opening the door to the less labour intensive, more profitable industry of sheep farming.

At least two schools in the town date to the 1600s, another sign of local affluence, and the centre boasted 5 blanket mills in the 1800s.

Today, the Early family mill still makes blankets under Royal Charter, but the town is more known for its market trading past: shops cluster around the old Corn Exchange, the Wool Market and the Buttercross (below - itself an ancient shrine that, by 1660 was given a roof and transformed into the marketplace for perishables - such as cream and butter. The dozen or so old-world coaching Inns bear testament to the influx of transient folk on market days gone by, and folk travelling the road between Gloucester and London. Can you tell? The more I get to know this place, the more I love its charm - and the easier it is to ignore the chavvy drunks that bawl abuse at folk in the centre on a Saturday night.

I'm not sure quite which is more impressive: the centuries of stories in the stones that make up our little township, or the realisation that Witney is just one of hundreds, maybe thousands, dotted around rural England, each with an ages long history...

References:
http://witneyblanketstory.org.uk/
http://www.witney.net/history.htm
http://www.channel4.com/history/microsites/M/monarchy/biogs/emma.html

Cider, white wine and a leisurely dip after breakfast

Last night I went out for dinner and drinks with some of the work crew. Today I learned something very important about swimming with a hangover.

It's not nearly as bad as you might think.

In fact, the 30 mins I spent in the pool was the best I felt all morning. Clear head, calm belly - and I still managed to grind out 1200 m. (I'm now just 200m away from being one third finished! Bring it on!) Can't say it lasted - wasn't back on land 10 minutes before ze hangover bit back with a vengeance.

Wish i'd stayed in the pool all day, really.

Autumn days in Witney.

After the summer that wasn't, autumn's crisp sunny days have been fortifying for the soul before we descend into winter. The days are still long(-ish), the sky is a bracing blue. So this evening I took my camera for a walk into Witney to see if I could show you just how pretty this place really is...

How drinking more pints could cut your carbon footprint

The landlord at our new local, the New Inn, isn't exactly what you'd call a greenie. But he is a businessman and quick to understand that doing the right thing by the environment can not only save you money - it can even be a money spinner. Okay, the real reason he put this sign up in his pub is probably to take the mickey outta me and my mate Paula - but we got a giggle out of his style.

Channel Swim update:

Just thought you'd like to know - I've now done 6 swims, ranging in distance from 1400m to 2300m. Total to date: 10,400m down, exactly 25,000 to go!

To all those who have sponsored me so far - especially those in Aus, cos the dollar doesn't quite buy the pounds it did a few weeks back - thankyou!! Liam, I will get you that Lap of Dog Paddle on film soon, I promise :-)

This photo was taken when I was 20 - my mum scanned it and sent it over to help my fundraising pitch. In 2004 I won the Women's Open age group of the Bairnsdale Bridge to Bridge, a 2.5km race in the Nicholson River. Technically I was 3rd woman across the line - I was beaten by a pair of 50-somethings, but it remains the only swimming 'gold' medal I've ever won!

Look who's got an armoury

My husband has been busy in his days off. The other day he escorted me up the stairs to our spare room (recently vacated by Keith the Lodger, who has moved to his retirement pad, an 11 bedroom farmhouse in France!)... and showed me this. This kit is all ours - from dark ages to 14th and 15th C stuff, and a couple of sharp swords too. It's been years since I lived in a house with its own armoury!

A changing of the guard at both my locals

Next Sunday sees the end of an era for Oxford pubs. Joe Ryan is giving up the Half Moon, and from Tuesday week it will be the first time in something like 27 years that Joe, an Irishman originally from Clare, hasn't been the landlord of a pub in Oxford with a cracking reputation for music.

In the leadup to the changeover, the pub's longtime residents (our friends Ian, Darren and Catherine) have moved on, and there have been several 'last hurrah' evenings, with all the regulars turning out, and out of towners like Jon Spiers and Kathryn Nutbeem getting in for a song or two. The pub is going into good hands: new landlord Jamie has been a regular behind the bar for some time, and while he has loads of good ideas for upping daytime custom, we're hoping he'll want to change very little about the evening sessions. Fingers are crossed...
Last week saw a different era end at my other local - the Dan O'Connell in Melbourne. For the past 15 years or more, the Sunday afternoon 'spot', 4pm-7pm, has belonged to Pat McKernan, another Irish expat who has found a home away from home in pubs. Pat's ability to generate a whole lot of sound and vibe from one man and a guitar has made him a stalwart on the Irish live music scene in my home town. But last Sunday was his last ever at the Dan, bringing to an end more than a decade of memories for me and mine: Pat McKernan followed by Erins Pride,
Pat followed by the Sunday singing session, Pat playing at Mikko's and my wedding, Pat on St Pat's day, Pat in countless Hundred Pint club photos. One of the Dan's regulars used to sayhis ambition was to one day have learned as many songs at Pat knew. Pat's versions of Sally McLannan, the Parting Glass, the Fields of Athenrye and loads others are still the ones I know and sing.

There are piccies on facebook.

I'm gutted I missed it. But you will know where to find me on the 19th - at Joe's last hurrah.

Isle of Wight

A forecast of completely rubbish weather was not enough to dampen our spirits as we took off on the latest Mighty Redox and Legendary Pete Fryer Band road trip. Neither Ants nor I had been to the Isle of Wight, and our chum Brenda the Saffa had only been once. And she hadn't been on a trip like this. Team drinkies and a 2am finish before left me in no fit shape to enjoy the ferry crossing, even after a pie at the terminal. This is me hiding my hangover from Brenda. And this is Ants protecting me (just before poking me in the belly - the big meanie!) We arrived in Rookley in time for lunch , although the dodgy smelling burgers did nothing to help my queasiness. A nana nap in the afternoon produced much better results, and we all trooped off for a top notch dinner and to see the bands in action. I do love this lot!! Being still a little seedy, I retired gracefully around midnight. Ants and Brenda stayed til stumps and were kicked out of the bar several hours later. Ants being literally twice B's size, he handled the copious pints, rounds of tequila and doubles of Captain Morgan's spiced rum a whole lot better than she did. Although tellingly, there are no embarrassing photos of Brenda from 3am... take a bow Mr Cundall!!
And the weather forecast proved depressingly correct, so we saw next to nothing of the Isle of Wight itself. But the view of the harbour was pretty, and we've loads to see when we come back next time...