Two days later and we had reached the end of our holiday. With heavy hearts and a final wave, we bid fair well to our AirBnB and the calves in the field next door, before jumping into the packed car. But, we weren’t quite done yet, and had one last adventure left up our sleeves. We had intentionally saved our bonus walk for this day, in a final pursuit of seeing the Cotswolds in its full glory.
Less than fifteen down the road and we pulled up in Winchcombe, the starting point of the day’s route. We managed to get as far as the end of the car park before Beth realised we hadn’t changed into our boots, so back we went. Eventually, at about quarter to eleven, we began for real. Our first stop was on the high street to pick up some lunch, after which we made our way out of the village, across its undulating green and onto the awaiting footpaths beyond.
The day had started misty, but the promise of sun was already burning through behind us, as ahead we faced a hillside woodland shrouded in silver. The path began to climb, soon bringing us out into a large, sloping field full of more sheep than we could count, each a little different than the other. Once we reached the top, we turned back to admire the view of Winchcombe below with its hilly backdrop, before leaving the field to continue upward. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves walking through a similar field a little further up, sheep stretching across the countryside as the sun continued to burn away at the mist. Awaiting us in this field was a smaller pen, a my-oh-my, what a surprise it contained. Within, were four large pigs and a collection of very lively piglets (according to Beth, Gloucestershire Old Spots). A large boar lay on his side fast asleep as three sows wandered about nibbling at the grass, whilst the piglets…well, they were just adorable! There were too many to count as they raced about together, scampering and squeaking, and generally getting beneath their mother’s trotters. They were tiny, full of life and looked remarkably like puppies. Naturally, we stood here for a good ten minutes before we eventually managed to drag ourselves away.
After another short stretch upward, the terrain finally levelled out and we were at the top of the hill. Here the farmland turned from pastoral to arable, and for a while pheasants became the most common beast of the land (of which there were rather a lot). This would likely explain why, as our path met the road, we were greeted with the site of a tractor towing a trailer, out of which stepped several people with red flags and excitable dogs – beaters, signalling an imminent shoot. Thankfully we were going in the opposite direction so were not at risk of getting shot ourselves. We made our way along the short stretch of road, and by the time we picked up our next rack on the right, Beth had found me the feather of both a red kite and a pheasant. We made our way around the side of the hill and through a farmyard, the other side of which opened up onto the view of a small valley, around the side of which we would be walking. We continued along the contours of the lands through the increasingly sunny day, pausing for a moment to ensure we were on the right track. Just as we did so, an explosion of squawking pheasant sounds erupted from hidden beaks all around us, the sound doubling as it ricochet off of the hills about us. A faint but explanatory reverberation of a recent gunshot vibrated in our ears a moment later, giving reason to the sudden panic amongst the local pheasant population.
We continued to follow the route to the end of the raised valley, as the land became increasingly Shire-like. The path led around the edge and we found ourselves heading back along the opposite hill, looking across to where we had just been. Above, three red kites circled and swooped together over the farmland through the blue sky, close enough to appreciate their colour and patterns. We continued past a gnarly old tree with a hole in its trunk big enough for a human, which sat in the corner of a field in which a farmer made his way slowly up and down in his tractor, diligently tending to his land. We almost went slightly wrong when leaving this field, but Beth quickly caught us and set us back on track. A few minutes later we emerged back onto a quiet lane and walked past some of the area’s distinctive sandstone cottages. After walking past another farm, the road turned into a stoney, treelined track, which led us back downhill. With the sun coming through the orange leaves and a trickling stream beside, it was pleasant visually, however by the time we reached the awaiting road at the bottom, I was glad to see the back of it, as the rough and pointy rocks were tough underfoot.
We took a small detour up to our left to visit a farm shop and pick up some cheese, before retracing our steps to look for our (late) lunch stop. We had planned to stop at Hailes Abbey, ruins owned by English Heritage, but much to our disappointment found that it was shut for what looked like some fairly hefty works. Fortunately, our other stopping point, Hailes Church, was directly opposite. We ate in the porch and went inside to have a look at the Norman paintings decorating the walls, before heading back out to complete the remainder of the days walk.
We picked up a footpath opposite the church. This happened to be a part of the Cotswolds way, which we followed most of the way home, through a few more fields and some final flocks of sheep. Just after we had waved goodbye to the final sheep of the day, the track turned back into a lane, which brought us back out to the main road. We plodded back up through the village and eventually arrived back at the car about four hours after we had left. The sun was finally setting on both the day and our holiday.
So, did we find the true Cotswolds this time?
Yes!
This walk was excellent, and at points put me in mind of some of my childhood walks through the Yorkshire dales. We saw plenty of beasts, beautiful views and farming in action, all on what had turned out to be a sunny and clear day. The full route can be found at https://www.winchcombewelcomeswalkers.com/walks/self-guided-walks/farmcote-to-hailes-circular-walk/ and we would highly recommend.
Now, as promised, the answer to the question – Had we seen Jeremy Clarkson two days earlier?
Just as we were leaving the Cotswolds, our route happened to take us past, The Farmer’s Dog, Jeremy’s newly opened pub. Beth, again being a wonderful fiancée, asked if I would like to try nipping in. I couldn’t resist, and as we drove in, I was most curious about who was in the beautiful, light grey Ferrari two cars in front. After getting parked, we made our way toward the pub. Beth already sensed something was up, but I remained oblivious. We found the Ferrari parked in a space of honour, and as we walked passed, the passenger door opened and someone emerged.
It was Lisa (Jeremy’s girlfriend).
My heart began to thump.
The driver door opened.
And there he was, mere feet away.
Jeremy Clarkson.
A buzz ran through the few onlookers. Instinctively, we all lined up on either side, as though awaiting a royal procession.
With gross mistiming, Beth chose at this moment to run into the pub for a much-needed wee, leaving me all by myself.
This, it would shortly turn out, was a mistake.
He began walk slowly toward the pub, very kindly stopping to talk to a few of the gawping onlookers as he did. He had just slowed to speak to the people opposite and had begun to walk away, when I felt my chance to speak to him slipping away. In a sudden panic, I quickly tried to think of something to say.
“Jeremy”, I called.
He turned back to look at me.
“Were you driving a blue McLaren on Monday?”
He looked thoughtful for a moment.
“No, I wasn’t” he answered slowly and honestly.
What I said next will haunt me until the end of my days.
“Oh okay, must have been some other guy with a bald spot.”
Of all the things I could have said…
“Yeah fine,” he dismissed me, turning away with the air of an unimpressed rhino swatting away a mildly irritating fly.
Realising immediately what I had said, I quickly began to explain the series of events that had led to the unfortunate comment, but it was too late.
Jeremy Clarkson had gone, at best forgetting the encounter immediately, at worst thinking I was just a prat trying to get a reaction out of him.
Yep, I completely cocked it.
Beth came out of the pub just in time to almost walk into him and his producers, and to see the look of horror written across my face as I processed what had just happened.
We fled the scene of the disaster soon after, and I spent the entire four-hour drive home replaying those disastrous seconds in my mind over and over again.
“Yeah fine.”
Two words that will haunt me forever.
So to sum up; no, it was not Jeremy we saw on Monday, but it for sure was on Wednesday and boy did I screw it up!
I write this two days later and I am beginning to recover; apparently this makes for a funny story, and Beth has promised never to leave me on my own again.
None-the-less, I really wish it had played out differently – sorry Jeremy, you’re my hero really…
*side-note, he doesn’t even have a bald spot, certainly not compared to that of the McLaren driver at any rate. This fun-fact was something which I learned, to my great detriment, too late, noticing as I watched him walking away…*
Matthew G. Huggins 