Septemblog: Painswick
What better place to spend the first week of September than a cosy twentieth century cottage in the heart of the Cotswolds? I arrived in Painswick, a village famed for its parish church’s ninety-nine yew trees, the Monday before last. One of the first things I had to do was to buy some supplies for the coming days from a local supermarket, these including a final few ingredients for a couple of seasonal recipes I wanted to try out. On my first morning I made pumpkin pancakes which I served with some walnuts and maple syrup, and on Thursday some banana french toast.
I went out to explore the village later that evening, taking note of all the now-closed shops, cafes and galleries I wished to visit before the week was up. The local gastropub, unsurprisingly, was to remain open until late, and so that’s where myself, my mum and my step-dad went to grab some dinner. Before we ate I flicked through a couple of magazines and sketched a hare in my notebook, inspired by a set of prints that hung on the wall.
I had a very busy day on Tuesday, waking up early and heading out on a long walk across the south of Painswick Valley. I was gone for at least two hours, trekking through flooded, overgrown valley footpaths; climbing over stiles; and crossing rivers and streams in the mercurial weather. I was amazed that I managed not to get completely lost, although I must say that the printed directions I was following were pretty exhaustive.
I returned to the cottage covered in mud, and had to get changed before the three of us could drive to a nearby antiques emporium to browse its huge collection of quirky treasures, old and new. I bought myself a little wicker basket that’s the perfect size for a spot of late summer blackberry picking, or for holding my little collection of rocks and minerals. That day was also the day that I paid a visit to most of the local shops, as well as a small gallery in the community centre and the village’s other pub. One of my favourite moments of that afternoon came much later on when I lit some candles and curled up on my window seat, warmed by a blanket and a cup of maple syrup tea, listening to 50s music and the distant tolling of the church bells.
On Wednesday afternoon we visited the Painswick Rococo Garden, the only remaining garden of its kind in the country. The 'Rococo’ artistic movement was popular in Europe in the 1700s, and greatly influenced the architecture of the period. The vast array of ornamental outbuildings that can be found in this exquisite pocket of the Gloucestershire countryside have, after standing unappreciated for many years, recently been restored to their former glory. Pumpkins grow and flowers bloom in the garden’s valley; bluebells burst from the soils of its wooded outskirts; sheep and cows graze the pasture which covers the surrounding hills. I was amazed at how big the place was, and how many surprises were hidden around every corner.
That night’s dinner destination: Cirencester. We didn't arrive in the historic town until the late afternoon, so managed only a small amount of sightseeing. It must be said that I wasn't in the greatest of moods; I’d been feeling increasingly unwell as the day had progressed and it seemed that, after such an action-packed summer, the flu had finally got me. I spent Thursday cosied up indoors with blankets, nibbles, my notebook and my laptop.
Thursday was my last full day in the Cotswolds, and even though we were due to leave our cottage late the following morning, I was determined to make the most of my final few hours there. I woke up at five, brewed some tea and prepared myself some homemade rhubarb jam on toast, then climbed the steps up to the very top of the garden to watch the sun rise over the rolling fields beyond. I was glad I’d thought to bring an umbrella with me when a heavy shower of rain passed overhead.
We left just after ten o’clock. It was a strange thing, that goodbye, as it was hardly a goodbye at all. I knew that in just over a week’s time a brand new adventure would begin in a town that lies less than twelve miles from Painswick; a town that I’ll be calling my home for the next three years. Fast forward one week and here I am, sat on my bed in a bare-looking bedroom, bags and boxes piled high in the living room, preparing myself for what’s coming next. Tomorrow I return to Gloucestershire. Tomorrow I start university.
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| You can check out where we stayed here |
I went out to explore the village later that evening, taking note of all the now-closed shops, cafes and galleries I wished to visit before the week was up. The local gastropub, unsurprisingly, was to remain open until late, and so that’s where myself, my mum and my step-dad went to grab some dinner. Before we ate I flicked through a couple of magazines and sketched a hare in my notebook, inspired by a set of prints that hung on the wall.
I returned to the cottage covered in mud, and had to get changed before the three of us could drive to a nearby antiques emporium to browse its huge collection of quirky treasures, old and new. I bought myself a little wicker basket that’s the perfect size for a spot of late summer blackberry picking, or for holding my little collection of rocks and minerals. That day was also the day that I paid a visit to most of the local shops, as well as a small gallery in the community centre and the village’s other pub. One of my favourite moments of that afternoon came much later on when I lit some candles and curled up on my window seat, warmed by a blanket and a cup of maple syrup tea, listening to 50s music and the distant tolling of the church bells.
On Wednesday afternoon we visited the Painswick Rococo Garden, the only remaining garden of its kind in the country. The 'Rococo’ artistic movement was popular in Europe in the 1700s, and greatly influenced the architecture of the period. The vast array of ornamental outbuildings that can be found in this exquisite pocket of the Gloucestershire countryside have, after standing unappreciated for many years, recently been restored to their former glory. Pumpkins grow and flowers bloom in the garden’s valley; bluebells burst from the soils of its wooded outskirts; sheep and cows graze the pasture which covers the surrounding hills. I was amazed at how big the place was, and how many surprises were hidden around every corner.That night’s dinner destination: Cirencester. We didn't arrive in the historic town until the late afternoon, so managed only a small amount of sightseeing. It must be said that I wasn't in the greatest of moods; I’d been feeling increasingly unwell as the day had progressed and it seemed that, after such an action-packed summer, the flu had finally got me. I spent Thursday cosied up indoors with blankets, nibbles, my notebook and my laptop.
Thursday was my last full day in the Cotswolds, and even though we were due to leave our cottage late the following morning, I was determined to make the most of my final few hours there. I woke up at five, brewed some tea and prepared myself some homemade rhubarb jam on toast, then climbed the steps up to the very top of the garden to watch the sun rise over the rolling fields beyond. I was glad I’d thought to bring an umbrella with me when a heavy shower of rain passed overhead.
We left just after ten o’clock. It was a strange thing, that goodbye, as it was hardly a goodbye at all. I knew that in just over a week’s time a brand new adventure would begin in a town that lies less than twelve miles from Painswick; a town that I’ll be calling my home for the next three years. Fast forward one week and here I am, sat on my bed in a bare-looking bedroom, bags and boxes piled high in the living room, preparing myself for what’s coming next. Tomorrow I return to Gloucestershire. Tomorrow I start university.
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| The sun sets over Market Place, Cirencester |
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