Red Lion, Evenley
Thursday, November 15th, 2007A letter arrived. Not an email. Not a text message. Not even a telegram or a greeting card. A letter, hand written, addressed to me, and delivered to the office.
Of course, I remember the days before this eloquent and pulchritudinous form of communication was rudely re-branded snail mail. Nowadays, I have to admit that I cannot recollect the last time I received a hand written letter. This particular letter resulted in an uncommon sequence of events that lead me to Tingewick, a pretty country village in Buckinghamshire.
Tingewick, close to the intersection of the three counties of Bucks, Northants, and Oxon, is an architectural melting pot. 16th century thatched cottages huddle awkwardly next to 1940’s council houses like new kids meeting at school. Grand mansions look down on their tiny peers who appear to doff their tiled roofs in deference. Residents include a well known rock guitarist, a lottery winner, and my estranged Godmother.
Stumble It!