Swinbrook Village

Yesterday, a Police car stopped at my front gate. Inside were two jubbly uniformed Police women.

I don't know about you, but nurses and policewomen in uniform do something to me.

"We're looking for Wenrisc", says the driver.

I reply, "It's down the road a bit by the Chapel, but it's probably about me, anyway, so what do you want?"

"No, it's a break in to a car - you sound bitter", says the other (what a perceptive woman).

"Are you Gloucestershire?", I say

"No, we're Oxfordshire - nothing like them", and she smiled.

I told them they were welcome back for Lemonade when they were finished. I saw them not again - I think they took the wrong road, anyway.

"Infamy, infamy. They've all got it in fer me", cried Kenneth Williams in some Carry On movie.

I think I know how he felt.

The other day, I was summoned by Malcolm to attend with him beside the Cricket pitch to take some interesting pictures of people boating on the pitch. We rolled up in his car along with Joyce, his wife, each carrying a camera. Malcolm and I got out to take some snaps and Joyce was taking pictures through the open window at the back.

I'm taking pictures of the flooded pavilion, members having a booze and nosh, 2 guys canoeing and a bunch in a dinghy steering a remote control model dinghy alongside it.

Behind me comes a gruff voice. "Is that for the website?". I don't look back (don't really like talking to strangers).

"Yes, I'll probably put some on", I respond, continuing to shoot.

"You've gotta get the parents' consent to take pictures of children", he goes on in a rather aggressive tone (I have witnesses).

From where I was standing into sun, I couldn't have told you if they were OAP's. But I've checked the Law (even an article on Ken Livingstone's cockamamie attempt to prohibit the taking of photographs in public parks) and I've done nothing wrong. I ignored him and just put his name on the list of suspects pinned to my desk if my body should be found floating in the Windrush (that's 5 names now - as long as it's not left to GCHQ* there's a chance of a conviction).

The French must be laughing their hats off at the increase in house prices on their side of the channel due to escapees from small minded, petty shites like this guy. 'How did you spend your afternoon dear?'. 'Well, I was enjoying the company of my small minded friends, having a drink and watching people having fun on the big puddle when I decided that I had forgotten I was English, so stuck it to some poor schmuck taking some innocent pictures out in the open air. I showed him where I was born!'

'How did this guy know you had a website?', I hear you ask. 'Does he know you? Do you know him? Is he a villager?'

No, no and thrice no - but this is where it gets interesting.

The next day, I'm going through the pix and notice someone at the pavilion waving directly at me. I magnify and find it's Rod Harris (A great guy I've known some 30 years, known by all and now President of the CC).

The next day I drop in on him and Livvy to apologise for not noticing him waving and find out if the guy who accosted me was an ex copper. He fitted the bill, after all (pun intended). Surprisingly, he wasn't.

Rod goes on to tell me that he was beckoning me to come over and join them when, apparently, someone said, "Why are you asking him over? He's the guy who abuses women on his website."

That phrase, in its complete ignorance, has added an extra Particular to my forthcoming Claim (damage to reputation, made worse by the fact that those espousing such trash do not even know me).

I abuse no one on my website and anything I do say is true and evidenced. I certainly make no distiction between men and women and, in fact, men feature more, probably because the women busy themselves with other activities.

Anyway, it'll all come out in the wash.

*GCHQ is not to be confused with the spy hut in Cheltenham, it's Gloucestershire Constabulary.

The results of flotsam and force of water
click to view larger image

For those of you who don't subscribe to the Chronicle, do as I do and nick your neighbours' copy for a quick glance.

I found an interesting article by Linda Baillie, Parish Council Clerk, about the role and limitations of the local Parish Council. Further, she encourages you to stand in elections yourself - albeit in 3 years or so - and has let you know that all Council meetings are open to you.

I say, get off your backsides and sit through one. Find out how the people you elected perform (or not) for you.

Parish Council is about the closest most of us will get to seeing and having an effect on 'goverment' in action, limited though it's powers be. In reality, most of us are affected by that which is closest to us and in our case it is our locale.

Do as Linda suggests and get involved.

Reading between the lines (and I may be wrong) she is suggesting you stick a poker up their bums and wake them up from the long uncontested snooze they've been enjoying. An audience at meetings might just do that.

Watch them in action and hold them to account when you can have your say. Write to them when you encounter a local problem. You elected them and they are accountable to you.

Don't rely on David Cameloon - he's away with the fairies.

After the waters receded, I found this seat about half a mile downstream of Widford. If anyone has lost it - or knows anyone who has - contact me and I can arrange collection.

In the meantime, I promise to take care of it by sitting on it regularly.

Taking all things into account, Swinbrook did not fair too badly after the heavy rainfalls. Asthall villagers were under up to 4 feet of water and some had to be evacuated. At Shipton under Wychwood emergency services were called to evacuate the aged and infirm from the Prebendal and the surgery suffered from flooding. Tales of floating cars by the green at Ascott under Wychwood reached us.

However, some people and premises here suffered badly from the flooding. The Swan Inn was awash as were the adjoining cottages. At Widford I witnessed the waters rushing through field walls at a height of some 3 feet and it wasn't long before they buckled under the pressure of tree trunks and water and gave way in three locations. The force of the torrent was such that it lifted the tarmac road, forming a blister, and sent large tarmac slabs across to the opposite side. The Fishing Lodge suffered badly from the deluge.

A vast lake appeared across the Widford fields and stopped inches short of the public footpath. That's a lot of water. Pebble Court became Pebble Lake and the weekly Formula G had to be cancelled.

The Cricket Club held a barbecue on Sunday and water activities took place on pitch. I caught a couple of canoes rowing madly up to the nets but no balls were thrown.

In the evening, bumped into a happy crowd of young people celebrating a birthday at the Village Hall. They asked if I was from the Oxford Mail. How could I disappoint them, even though my grammar will give me away?

Archie Orr Ewing & Swan crew making the most of a bad lot.
Fresh local Trout on menu this week, I guess?

This is next door to the Swan

Click on the following images for a larger view

Sunday after everything had peaked.
Boating on the Cricket pitch & Village Hall party