EVERY now and again, I like a really long walk. I know all the paths around here so well that their circularity can pall. How about walking away from here, until I can walk no more? This is a longing that’s been building during lockdown.
I’ve already described the joys of the Thames/Severn Canal (‘What the doctor ordered’, May 6) and the glorious expanse of Cirencester Park (‘Where the spirit of Pope lives on, June 3), but we also have, only half a mile from my Cotswold home, the source of the River Thames. Most of the time, the spring is a disappointing, dry depression in the ground, notable mainly for the Conservators’ stone pointing to the Thames Barrier 184 miles away, but this wet winter it was bubbling away and the upper reaches of this ancient river flowed across the landscape.
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