What a joy the Eurostar can be! Not, of course, when a fire in the tunnel has stopped it working. Having cashed in my train tickets, or attempted to there’s a fortnight’s backlog in handling transactions my journey to Paris began at Birmingham International Airport, close to the Throckmorton Literary Festival, at Coughton Court, Warwickshire, where I had been giving a talk.
We took off bravely in a propeller-driven plane; Birmingham, I’m told, has three-quarter-length runways. Coming home, the only flight I could get was a late one to Luton. On arrival, it was the work of a moment to identify a Green Line bus going to Victoria. I hadn’t taken a Green Line bus since childhood; unfortunately, I was doomed not to on this occasion.
The doors closed as I approached, my rapping on the glass went unheeded, the bus pulled away. ‘I wasn’t smirking,’ said the bus despatcher, whom I furiously accused of enjoying my discomfiture. ‘I was eating a sandwich.’ By the time the train had arrived at St Pancras, the Victoria line had closed for repairs. And to think that people once thought international travel was glamorous.
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If heaven is on earth, it might be in this home with a converted chapel that is now a swimming pool5 Wood Barton Town House is part of an exclusive 80-acre development in Devon that also comes with fishing rights on the River Avon and four bedrooms.
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An Italian-inspired recipe for lemon-butter pasta shells with spring greens, ricotta and pangrattatoSpring greens are just about to come into their own, so our Kitchen Garden columnist reveals exactly what to do with them.
