Mr G took the old crock out for a run in the French countryside this morning. He let me come along too.

We went to Beaumont du Périgord for breakfast, taking advantage of the French tradition of taking your breakfast with you to the local café, where you purchase a coffee to go with it – I can well imagine the hail of abuse that you would be met with in an English greasy spoon, arriving clutching a bag of goodies from the competition…here it is regarded as normal, obviously you buy your croissant from the baker you consider the finest, and you choose your coffee in the same way, no one would want to condemn you to eating Pierre’s croissants just because they offered the best discount to the café…

A leisurely crawl across some of the finest Périgordine countryside, rolling hills bathed in the morning light, harvested fields, the sunflowers in full bloom, we paused only when the giant combine – the reason for our leisurely crawl! – in front of us stopped to let Mrs Moorhen and her minute day old chicks cross the road to a rare puddle of water. We have had no rain for months, apart from one day, and ponds and rivers are nearly dry.

We went via the ‘back road’ – a land of tiny homesteads with plentiful veg gardens, chickens roaming, ageing blue pantaloons, patched incessantly, hung out to dry, and gnarled crones already harvesting the potimarons that will keep them alive during the winter months.

These are not the expansively renovated stone palaces beloved of the English with their shutters all painted the same tasteful colour, bedecked with satellite dishes and shiny 4 x 4s in the driveway – this is the ‘old’ Périgord, where the average household – not personal – income is around 10,000 Euros a year. The average. Many, many, homes exist on far less.

Yet these people are past masters at having a ‘good time’ on what appears to be fresh air.

I was privileged once to be invited to join the ladies of Beaumont as they went about their annual task of making flowers to decorate the village. It was the year of the Félibrée, the celebration of all the Occitan traditions, and thus they were grateful for any extra hands. They sat in the shade of the Marie, conjuring wisteria and dahlias out of the surplus coloured plastic created when you stamp out the hole for the handle in a supermarket shopping bag – nothing is wasted round here. They made thousands and thousands of them, gossiping in the afternoon sunshine.

They do it every year, although to a lesser degree, and this year was no exception; we drank our coffee under a ‘rosy’ sky, the sunlight permeating through hundreds of exuberant crimson chrysanthemums strung in line across the village square. Shutters flew open in yellow stone houses that looked as though they might be deserted, locals shouted out a morning greeting to each other. The early risers were already inspecting the vegetables on offer at the market – should they buy a melon, their own were not quite ripe? A lone accordionist played in a shady corner, that distinctive Occitan melody that renders every song seemingly identical.

Breakfast rarely comes in a more perfect form – and it made me reflect.

I spend so much time reading the British press, listening to the British news, and it is an unending diet of fear and despair. The Blogosphere, myself included, finds something new to carp about, whine about, criticise, every day. The Main Stream Media invents a new fear to drive us back under the duvet each day. We feast on corruption, imminent disaster, peril and confusion.

‘Could I do this in England?’ I thought. What would I have done this morning that could fill me so full of the joy of life? After so many years of my view of England being percolated through the lens of the media, I was stumped for an answer.

I don’t believe that there are not still corners of simple pleasures in England that are available to all – even without deep pockets. I don’t believe that you have to have an expensive car or high definition television or tickets to the centre court in order to still be filled with the joys of life.  My outing cost all of one pound.

So that is your challenge for the day – convince me that Britain is not all doom and gloom, concrete jungles and corrupt police, politicians and journalists.

You have one pound to spend and two hours to fill…..your starter for 10…..

robbiethered
July 10, 2011 at 19:09

The simple but timeless pleasure of seeing a wood, with its attending deer,
rabbits and birds etc is priceless to me. Similarly, to walk down the road and
see the farm, watch the quiet crops gradually turn gold as the summer moves
along. This is what I love, little hobbit at heart that I am, and this is what
I would most miss if it disappeared.

Gewyne July 10, 2011 at 00:55

I was writing a article On Thursday, rain and wind pounding the window, my
dog curled up in the corner looking sorry for itself and my head about to
explode due to writers block. A ray of sunshine escaped through the cloud, the
rain petered out leaving a brilliant arcing rainbow and the dog walked over,
toy in mouth, tail wagging. I picked up the dog collar, hopped in the car and
drove from town centre to countryside in minutes.

After a few minutes of walking the dog ran along the paths I met a day
walker, then a rambler, a couple of people on mountain bikes, a young family
sat by beacon marking the local high point. Everyone one of them had been out
for during the wind and rain, all were wearing waterproofs, their hair wet,
stuck to their skin.

Not only was the countryside beautiful, but the people too. Who but the
English would leave the home to walk in conditions that require a coracle not
walking boots.

Cascadian July 9, 2011 at 20:41

One pound……..phew will that even buy one coffee nowadays? I ask because I
have not visited England for twelve years, and even then I found the price of
everyday items exhorbitant.

But as to the challenge, if you find yourself near the sleepy backwater
that is Suffolk (backwaters have much to recommend them as far as I am
concerned), visit Lavenham, a once prosperous wool town that fell into disuse
and has never really recovered sufficiently to “attract” modern development.
In short be prepared to enter a village preserved in a time-warp, with little
kitschy-ness(sp?) A summer weekday morning is recommended before the
inevitable buzz of traffic and squalling tourists disturb the calm.

The attraction is the architecture, an assemblage of mostly wood-framed
buildings of various sizes and former uses, the wood frames infilled with
wattle-and-daub and each painted colours that on their own would be considered
garish, but like parts of Tuscany are sympathetic to the quality of light at
this latitude. With age some buildings have settled at crazy angles adding to
their charm(but perhaps not to their livability)

http://www.google.com/search?q=lavenham&hl=en&safe=off&client=ubuntu&hs=d7x&channel=fs&prmd=ivnsm&source=lnms&tbm=isch&ei=mKEYTt_KAarmiAKexc3RBQ&sa=X&oi=mode_link&ct=mode&cd=2&ved=0CAgQ_AUoAQ&biw=1120&bih=498

The Market Place and High Street are interesting though usually too busy
for my taste, if you wish some quiet and introspection try Shilling Street and
Water Street. Take some time to appreciate some of the ornate wood doors and
windows constructed before sheet glass was available. The walk can be easily
completed in twenty minutes, but if you are like me, there was much walking
backwards, head in the air then down to the ground, to-and-fro across the
lanes to get different perspectives and camera angles. If you wish expand your
horizons to the charming little river at the base of Water Street. An
enjoyable two hours were expended, and though I could easily have spent a
further two hours, my wife’s enthusiasm was flagging and so it was time to
retire to a local pub for some of Greene King’s finest brew (which cost
considerably more than Ms Raccoon’s budget, but was worth every penny) later I
did penance in the form of pretending to be interested while scouring some
touristy “junque” shops.

What stands out in my mind of that day is the good companionship, unhurried
enjoyment and low-cost, if I remember correctly we even avoided parking
charges, though I doubt that is still the case.

I cannot comment whether the local citizens are sufficiently proud of their
surroundings to decorate local gathering places because I obviously don’t live
there.

The ability to enjoy a unhurried, inexpensive snack in the sun is always a
challenge in England unless like others you escape into the natural landscape,
your best bet in Lavenham is probably the church yard, where unvandalised park
benches existed (do they still?)

Simon Cooke July
9, 2011 at 20:41

Today I’ve spent £1 on some pakora & raita. This was at Cottingley Fun
Day where I listened to a brass band in the sunshine, watched a dance (well
sort of dance) demonstration and some fire eaters.

Before that we’d been round the village – just pottering and watching.
Chatting to a few folk.

Tomorrow is Cullingworth Gala – I might spend a little more than a pound
but I don’t have to. I can have a great time for not much brass. Indeed, just
watching the floats, listening to the bands and whatever the word is for
looking a stalls without buying (obviously not window shopping as they’ve no
windows).

And then we’re off down to Bingley for a walk along the Leeds Liverpool
Canal – up past 3-rise and 5-rise locks. Along to where the goose filed is –
there to look at how big and fat the goslings and ducklings have got. And
perhaps pick one out for Christmas dinner.

Will that do? The South Pennines are wonderful.

Jeremy Poynton
July 9, 2011 at 18:20

Gildas,

Did you ever swim at Hayfield Pool? Open air pool up above Marple?
Fantastic. I fear it closed some years back, but it was our default
destination on a hot day in the summer. And you could cool your beer in the
pool, which was fed from the Pennines, filtered through two gravel beds. So
many of these open air swimming pools have closed (Bramhall, where I also used
to swim as a kid), though I gather the one at Hathersage is still open.

Gildas the Monk
July 9, 2011 at 18:49

Hi Jeremy
No never knew about that. I was never that familiar with
Marple, but I think I am sure I used to visit Hayfield, if it’s the village
I think it is, to walk up Kinder Scout, some years ago now. Perhaps I should
revisit it. It is quite a forbidding place as I remember…we are going back
15 years though now.

Engineer July 9, 2011 at 17:22

Anna, don’t believe everything you read in the papers! Good old blighty
isn’t totally done for. Most of the above posts had me quietly smiling in
agreement.

There’s a cafe and wine bar in a little alleyway of my home town that knows
how to look after it’s customers. They do the best bacon sandwich and the most
generous cup of coffee I know of (OK – nearer a fiver, but it’s worth it). I
took sanctuary there a month or so ago when the car went for it’s service and
MOT (don’t ask), and they looked after me just right. It was the highlight of
an otherwise rather mouldy old day.

Ian R Thorpe July
9, 2011 at 16:41

The bleak beauty of Wuthering Heights (Withins Moor in real life) is quite
hard to beat. And home made pie and peas in one of the village pubs well away
from the Bronte trail can’t be beaten.

My brother used to live in a tiny village in Cumbria, Eaglesfield. The
local pub served Jennings beer from barrels resting on wooden cradles behind
the bar. Miraculously it always seemed to be pleasantly cool.

A drive down to Sunderland Point on the Lune Estuary near Lancaster is a
world away from Liverpool and Manchester though only fifty miles in terms of
distance.

At this time of year many of the villages in the Yorkshire Dales are alive
with colour as the hanging baskets the villagers put up are coming into full
bloom. Pately Bridge is the town with the most spectaular displays.

Yeah, the places are there if you look.

Wigner’s Friend
July 9, 2011 at 17:00

Just returned from the market square in a Somerset town, where the first
day of a week long arts festival is in full swing. Local jazz trio were
entertaining the crowds and they had been preceded by folk singers and other
entertainers before that. Local cafe was serving good quality snacks and
coffe and, of course the local charities (WI, Rotary, hospice etc) were all
well represented. All in all an excellent afternoon for minimal outlay, all
of which supported local charities.

John Leon July 9, 2011 at 16:18

Anna, I used to live just 2 miles up the road from Beaumont, I have’nt been
to chez Katie’s brasserie for a while, in fact there are two cafes situated in
the small square one is attached to la presse, I’m going through there
tomorrow to help out a good pal who lives up the road at Salavert a part of
the commune of La Bouquerie so I may well be following in your tyre tracks.
Another place worth visiting is the very small bastide of Moliers, about 10
kilometers from Beaumont you pass through st. Avit Seigneur to get to it, the
road leads on to Cadouin well worth visiting for it’s Abbey, one of the best
known around here.

woodsy42 July 9,
2011 at 15:57

On Thursday an old friend came to stay overnight. He is interested in
railway history and Stoke-on-Trent has plenty of it. After an evening meal,
with a couple of hours of evening sunshine left to us, we went a few miles to
Apedale, 20 years ago a site of open cast coal mining, now reclaimed as
country park and wildlife area and with a hill having spectacular views. To
the north you can see over the Cheshire plain and the Jodrell Bank dish, to
the south you can see the GPO communication tower on Cannock Chase and to the
east you look completely over the city of Stoke-on-Trent where you can pick
out the separate areas and landmarks all the way to the hills of
Derbyshire.
While there we talked to a warden who knew the site’s
history.
Apparently it was the site of the most important coal mine in
England in the 1700′s. A short canal, one of the first ever built and now
filled in, once flowed in the valley to take the coal into
Newcastle-under-Lyme and a very early ore smelting workshop still remains on
the next hillside. The famous Knotty railway, one of the first urban transport
systems in the world ran all around the area and now walkways criss cross the
region. During WWII tanks were built there, using the disused canal basin for
water testing.
So all in all about 2 hours. Catching up with an old friend,
a pleasant walk, some spectacular views, and a local history lesson. Cost
zero!

JuliaM July 9,
2011 at 15:39

Well, I’m stumped….

Gildas the Monk
July 9, 2011 at 16:06

That’s a first!

Lilith July 11, 2011 at 10:24

No Gildas, JuliaM is just saying how wonderful a day of English cricket
is.

Livewire July 9, 2011 at 14:46

I can’t think of an event arranged by people that would be under the quid
limit, you’d
have to take the Gildas route and mention the limestone
uplands in areas like Malham Cove
and the High Peak. For the sheer pleasure
of the unique small-island climate, The Scilly Isles, and for a weird
‘space-city’ experience gaze across the water at the refinery at
Ellesmere
Port as the gas is flared off at night-time. The strange thing is if you live
near to areas that tourists go to there’s no uniqueness about them “yeah,
that’s the local mountains, that’s the beach, yawn…!”, funny lot us Brits.

Mad Morgan July 9, 2011 at 14:15

Go live in Penmon, Anglesey, then go spend a couple of wonderful solitary
hours fishing off the rocks at Caim beach after a 15 minute walk to get there.
Costs nothing. Sometimes I don’t even bait the hook – wife keeps asking why I
don’t always bring some fish home … I don’t think she understands the true
purpose of fishing off the rocks.

Gildas the Monk
July 9, 2011 at 14:23

Now that’s a cracker, in all ways. I have always loved Anglesey, I have
very happy and romantic memories of it and and it has a lovely peaceful
quality. Add fishing off the rocks and …ahh!

Ex-PatAlfie July 9, 2011 at 13:10

Why would I even try when I am certain to succeed here in Andalucia and
even have change from my euro.

Gildas the Monk
July 9, 2011 at 13:03

Lovely Raccontage. I don’t live in the most attractive area of England, but
I will take the challenge. Armed with my new trendy walking bootlettes, I
shall pack a rucksack with traditional salmon paste sandwiched and a flask of
coffee, pick up my walking poles and drive to Dovestones reservoir in the
foothills of the Pennines and on the edge of the Peak National Park. I shall
walk up around the upper reservoir where not many people go, and take a short
stop to observe the little wild trout that live a pool which is fed from a
mountain stream. I like the babbling noise the stream makes, and I find
watching the slinking trout relaxing. I shall then press on and at a vantage
point I will be able to look down across most of Manchester and the Cheshire
plain, and enjoy sandwiches and coffee. It’s not the most beautiful place in
England but the air is very fresh and clean
Cost: leaving aside the petrol
and cost of sandwiches: 30 pence to park.
Some photos can be found
here:
http://www.picturesofengland.com/England/Greater_Manchester/Greenfield/Dovestone_Reservoir/pictures/1086467