THE highest point in south-eastern England is Walbury Hill in West Berk- shire, in the North Wessex Downs AONB. As we reach its summit and its glorious 360-degree views, my friend and I agree that we have rarely done a circular walk as perfect as this one. In a few hours, we’ve walked on orchid- and butterfly-strewn down- land, through wooded lanes and a peaceful nature reserve and wound our way through the fascinating, scattered community of Inkpen. We’ve been intrigued, all day, by the evocative names of the farms and lanes and delighted by a series of wildlife surprises.
Our walk starts and ends at Walbury Hill, site of an iron-age hill fort where ramparts run alongside a path that descends to Inkpen village. As we walk, we count butterflies, glad to see our first marbled whites. At the bottom of the hill, we pass the definitively named Adder’s Copse, then pick up the first of many tiny lanes that wind through this landscape.
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Tales as old as time
By appointing writers-in-residence to landscape locations, the National Trust is hoping to spark in us a new engagement with our ancient surroundings, finds Richard Smyth
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Farming is a profession, not a lifestyle choiceâ and, therefore, the Budget is unfair
Night Thoughts by Howard Hodgkin
Charlotte Mullins comments on Moght Thoughts
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It's alive!
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There's orange gold in them thar fields
A kitchen staple that is easily taken for granted, the carrot is actually an incredibly tricky customer to cultivate that could reduce a grown man to tears, says Sarah Todd
True blues
I HAVE been planting English bluebells. They grow in their millions in the beechwoods that surround usâbut not in our own garden. They are, however, a protected species. The law is clear and uncompromising: âIt is illegal to dig up bluebells or their bulbs from the wild, or to trade or sell wild bluebell bulbs and seeds.â I have, therefore, had to buy them from a respectable bulb-merchant.
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Stay the hand that itches to deadhead spent roses and you can enjoy their glittering fruits instead, writes John Hoyland
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Oft-forgotten Rutland, England's smallest county, is a 'Notswold' haven deserving of more attention, finds Nicola Venning