Saturday did not look very inviting, strong winds and some rain. We had

already decided it was a day for London, so we headed for Charing Cross

Rd, going into bookshops and a specialist travel and map bookshop.

We got a map of the Orpington area, as there are some decent walks there

which we can do in the winter. After a good cappuchino in Aroma cafe, we

moved on to the South Bank to get tickets for the night's performance in

the Purcell rooms. They are part of the Royal Festival Hall complex,

covering music and theatre productions. We got the tickets and then

decided to get a pre-theatre meal in the Archduke restaurant cum cafe.

It is ironically named, being situated beneath the arches of the

Waterloo to Charing Cross railway line. It is quite atmospheric hearing

the rumble of trains passing overhead.

We had a great evening on the front row of the auditorium. The night's

offering was performed by the London Harpsichord Ensemble, comprising of

two violins, viola, cello, double bass, oboe, flute and harpsichord.

The acoustics were brilliant and the playing, first class.

We heard Vivaldi - Concerto in F for flute, strings and continuo

Albinoni - Concerto in B for oboe strings and continuo

Bach - Concerto in D Minor for harpsichord and strings

Vivaldi - Concerto in D for strings

Telemann - Concerto in F Minor for oboe and strings

Bach - Suite No 2 in B Minor for flute and strings

After the interval, Louise asked me if the woman behind us was Iris

Murdoch, the novelist. I thought she meant someone sitting behind us

in the performance and said,I hadn't bothered to look around the place.

"You're not very observant tonight Glenn." Then it transpired that

she meant a lady reading a book about 2 tables from us during the interval.

I don't know what Iris Murdoch looks like, so the question was rather

academic, but I was able to tell her the title of the book the lady was

reading. Not so unobservant, eh?

Sunday was ill forcast, but ignored the weathermen and was crisp and

clear. Making the most of it, we drove to a nearby large village called

Westerham. It was the home of some famous sons, including William Pitt

the younger, the prime minister who abolished slavery in England,

General Wolfe, who led the battle which killed him and took Quebec from

the French, and Sir Winston Churchill whose country seat, Chartwell,

lies about 2 miles from the village. Both Churchill and Wolfe have their

statues on the village green, one waving his sword and the other slumped

on a seat. You can work out which is which.

Westerham is very attractive and has preserved much of it's architecture

from the past. There seems to be little newer than the early Georgian

period, and it is all beautifully built. In one of the most affluent

areas of Kent, it has many antique shops in it's antique high street.

Pitt's cottage is a lovely little place. I used to go there for cream

teas about 20 years ago, but it is no longer a restaurant/tea house.

It and other old properties in the village look as though they are

bulging out in all directions, like a large girl in a tight dress.

After admiring the place we slipped down an alleyway leading to a local

stream and open country. The walk was very energetic, with more ups and

downs than a whore's drawers. The going was very muddy, made worse by

the fact that many of the paths are also bridle paths. Horses make a

real mess of wet ground, so we had to take diversions to avoid going in

over our boots. Lots of woodland streams and ancient trees gnarled into

grotesque shapes, casting strange light patterns on the wood floor.

The over-imaginative could see witches, wolves or hob-goblins there, but

actually, it is truly beautiful.

Again many mushrooms, including the Fly Agaric, also known as the magic

mushroom (Amanita Muscaria) which is common here. It was prized by the

ancient druids who reputedly used it to induce a trance-like state

during their ceremonies. Modern New-age travellers also like it for it's

hallucinogenic properties.

We got to French St, a tiny hamlet surrounded by lovely country, blinked

and it was gone. The sun was very bright, but as happens this time of

the year, it's effect was negligible.

We found the chestnut season had started and ate a few raw.

We passed by Chartwell, pausing to admire the views and ascended a steep

hill to another large wood. After a short while it was evident we were

lost. I asked Louise for the map. She passed it to me, it was the

Orpington one. Not much use in a wood near Westerham. Again, I forgot

the compass, so I used the sun and the sound of distant cars to get my

bearings. After walking along a narrow path between pines, silver

birches and rhododendrons we got to the start of a long trough shaped

valley. I recognised it and was able to get back to Westerham following

the valley, which is flanked by wooded slopes covered in a rich

diversity of hues. Soon after we skirted along the edge of a string of

long, narrow trout ponds and finally climbed the hill back to Westerham.