Brigadoon

One of the great things about cycling is that you visit places that you would never normally see. The English countryside is packed full of picturesque villages in which time has seemingly stood still. It's not entirely true of course because there is no longer the local pub, shop, post office etc. . in most cases, and the original residents can no longer afford the price of the homes. But the semblance of timelessness remains, and it was this that presented itself as we rolled down the hill into Altarnun on the edge of Bodmin Moor last Sunday. An old-fashioned summer had finally arrived with high 20s heat to remind us of bike rides of our youth; the panniers were packed with Camambert-filled baguettes and red wine. Riding back from Polzeath we were on the lookout for a half-remembered bench from the outward leg, so passed many a likely lunchtime spot before descending the tree-hemmed lane into a tableau of village green betwixt church and bubbling brook, with a bench and shady tree as if by order.

S was hot so decided to recline under a shady tree

The old gravestones in the churchyard bore witness to the inhabitants who either died before 20 or lived into their 80s, almost none in-between . . . except those on the cenotaph.

I wonder if it really exists.

 

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