Jeremy Clarke Jeremy Clarke

My sojourn in the Test Valley

I am treated to a landscape of flint, thatch, village green, cosy pub – and endless talk of money

A red kite circled ominously above me, clearly scenting weakness [Education Images/Universal Images Group/Getty Images] 
issue 16 April 2022

After north Cornwall I came to the Test Valley, I think. That is what it says on the council vans anyhow. An immensely kind family lent me an immense cottage in farmland a mile outside a village.

I’ve started new drugs costing the French taxpayer €4,000 a month. Possible side effects are thrush and fatigue. No thrush so far but fatigue yes, and I remained several days within these cottage walls before I tried to walk to the village pub for lunch.

Walking was easier than I thought it would be and I diverted up a footpath that followed the edge of a huge field up to a viewpoint. Snowy hawthorn was the one vibrant colour in a panorama of leafless trees and hedges and muddy acres. The sky in contrast was a vivid, fast-moving drama of black, blue and white.

After a month or two someone rang him up and offered him £14,000 for his place on the waiting list

Quartering the sloping field on which I stood was a red kite.

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