To the woods

In a huge rush to digitally capture the colours of autumn before all the leaves are blown away in the wind and rain, we rush off to Stourhead for some peace and tranquility. It’s an inauspicious start as I manage to become embroiled in some pointless altercation at the Tesco petrol station in Blandford whilst motorists desperate to take advantage of 5p off a litre of fuel wait impatiently in an ill-tempered queue stretching back towards Poole. Initially, things don’t seem a lot better on arrival in Wiltshire as the world, his wife, dogs and numerous children appear to have also taken the decision to look at a few trees.

We stand in a long line waiting for access to the ‘ladies’; naturally, there is no matching queue for the ‘gents’. ‘Are you local?’ demands a fierce woman with bright red hair and thick-rimmed spectacles. Wondering whether the loos are also ethnically demarcated, we concede that we are not from round here. ‘Well I am’ the scary native responds; ‘and I’ve never queued for a toilet before’. There doesn’t seem to be an answer readily available and as this is National Trust, so no sneaking into the men’s facilities, we slip surreptitiously behind the disabled door.

There is another long queue to gain entry to the grounds which is fielded by an elderly man under the impression he has all the time in the world. He probably didn’t have that beard when he started work earlier. We join the soft-shoe shuffle and watch all the National Trust members passing smugly by. And then we are out and here is a tree. Camera, action. Here’s another and another. There are thousands of the things and we are just in time. The gales have already wreaked a certain amount of havoc but there is still plenty to see.

We wander up to the one hundred feet high obelisk, the base of which seems to be the unofficial stopping point for large people to eat their sandwiches. There’s nowhere to sit so they lean against the edifice grazing happily and thereby precluding any photographic opportunity. It’s not important in the grander scheme of things and it is very grand. Up here, for example, there is a broad expanse of land stretching from the minor, but still stately, house across to what might have once been the lodge; or the game-keeper’s abode. The weather can’t make its mind up what to do so the sky is half light and half dark which, with that tree in front, will make a superb artistic composition. Only it doesn’t because I’m not very good with cameras.

Walking down towards the lake offers greater opportunities for the amateur photographer as the sun finally takes control of meteorological decision making and allows us to see the seasonal colours in all their glory. There are ducks and swans on the rippling water, cottages, chapels, bridges and grottoes, waterfalls and leaves shimmering on islands. I sit on a bench outside the Temple of Diana and pick all the tomato pips out of my Tesco’s chicken salad sandwich.

We walk for miles eventually arriving wearily at the last watering hole before the uphill trek to the car-park. As a reward for all this outdoor activity, we discover our second and totally unexpected craft fair of the weekend. I am entranced by the knitted mouse stall. I liked the trees too.

Listen to autumnal music here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CO9Qx7Kp_I8&feature=related