Blenheim & Shipton

Still full from last night's excellent repast, and conscious that our day's destination - Blenheim Palace - might be subjected to a Bank Holiday surge (or should that be siege?) of visitors, we decided to skip breakfast and head straight there.

We arrived just as the gates were opening, but with still almost an hour and a half before the house opened to the public, and an hour before the craft fair got underway. We walked around the house and down to the Bridge of Vanbrugh, a walk which afforded us a magnificent view of the lake and Capability Brown's excellent handiwork in the landscaping of the grounds. The air was still and crisp, hinting at the heat of the day to come and in the early morning quiet, the honking of waterfowl on the lake echoed around the hills while a pair of cranes flew low over the island and away to the distant woods.

Over the bridge we walked as far as the Column of Victory and then retraced our steps, conscious of the time. Most of the fair stalls were still setting up, but the local hamster club were already in full swing, sharing their tent with an owl rescue centre that had four different owls on display.

In total the fair occupied about a dozen marquees, each one housing perhaps twenty stalls. They varied from wood turners to jewellery makers, fine art to handmade toys, home made curry sauces (all natural ingredients), through European sausages and Danish pastries to various cheeses, ginger cordial, celtic spirits (whisky, poteen and blackcurrant brandy).

By the time we arrived back at the entry point the Punch and Judy show had finished and a display of ferret racing was in progress. How quintessentially English! The ferrets alternated with a falconry display. Some lovely birds were present today, the smallest of which even though fully grown weighed only 3½ ounces.

Leaving the craft fair for the time being we headed off for the next nearest Blenheim experience - the "Secret Garden." This proved to be a waste of time, apart from the butterfly house. Home to a number of attractive butterflies and this (mam)moth which Nikki wouldn't let me prod in case it took flight. It's about 9 inches across. I have, obviously, included this photo here purely for the delight of those with a moth fetish whom I know are regular readers.

The other good thing about the Secret Garden was that we could catch the miniature railway back to the main house, which was a lark. This brought us to the house itself, which we both agreed was an utter waste of time apart from parts of the Churchill exhibition. Most of the house is closed to the public (although you can volunteer to be ripped off again to be allowed access to the Duke's "private apartments"), they have a 19th century policy on photography (it's banned; forcing you to buy the cheesy postcards of the interior) , and compared to Chatsworth the interior is nothing to write home about. They do, however, take many more opportunities during the tour of the house and gardens to guide you obtrusively through the many gift shops.

Having been diverted into the one-way-in-and-the-same-way-out garden and spent a frustrating 30 minutes trying to find an alternative exit, we concurred that if it hadn't been for the craft fair the day at Blenheim would have been a real let-down.

Returning to pick up our cheeses, some sausage, three bottles of ginger cordial and a bottle of apple and blackcurrant brandy, I chanced another walk past the wonderful surrealist oil painting of a sailing dinghy done with half-a-dozen masterstrokes of a palette knife. I was still strong enough to resist its charms, but if I'd had five hundred quid in my pocket I could easily have spent it. In fact I could probably have spent a couple of grand - some of the hand-made wooden artefacts were simply stunning and there were numerous other needful things begging to be bought.

We left Blenheim at 3pm, the sun still blazing, and returned to Shipton where the village summer fete was in full swing on the green. The top of the field was occupied by the biggest bouncy castle-cum-inflatable climbing frame I've ever seen and all around the green were stalls manned by locals selling the usual homemade cakes, jams, and contents of boxes from under children's beds. Attention was centred however on the makeshift racetrack in the middle of the field, bounded by bales of hay for spectators to sit upon, where a sack race was just finishing. This was followed by two rounds of an egg-throwing contest where partners faced each other 3 yards apart, each taking a step back upon successful completion of a throw and a catch without dropping, or breaking, their fresh egg.

Needless to say several contestants ended up somewhat eggier than they began, as did a few spectators who unfortunately found themselves under a failing catch.

Once around the field was enough for us, fun as it was, and we retired to the hotel for a (small!) meal and an early night.