This is the church which sits on high ground and dominates Audlem. Although a Cheshire boy, I had never before visited this small village near the border with Shropshire although I have ‘sailed by’ on a narrowboat. It is a very attractive place which according to Wiki in 2005 “was voted Cheshire’s ‘Village of the Year’ and the North of England ‘Village of the Year’ also the ‘Most Vibrant Village in Cheshire’. After also winning the county’s ‘Building Community Life’ award, Audlem went on to win England’s ‘Building Community Life’ award….a Meryl Streep of villages.
These views of the church are taken from the road below and there is much going on ‘up’ there: a lone crow drifts on a westerly against a white cloud, a vapour trail scars the blue sky, the weathercock and Union Jack flutter on the same wind. The Church tower points to the same sky, always the domain of birds and now aviation:
(click on images to enlarge)
Tonight’s Arcadia entertainment: Vlad from Lithuania – Ten nights only! Widely regarded as the world’s Premier Welder Tenor, Vlad has demonstrated spot welding whilst singing a selection of the best loved arias in venues all over the world. From Trondheim to Bangalore audiences have been riveted to their seats.
Not quite riveting enough for us though, so we watched Meryl Streep and Tommy Lee Jones in Hope Springs – it could have been made for Arcadia, judging by the too knowing high pitched laughs emanating from the female contingent. Unfortunately the film was projected in the wrong aspect ratio such that everyone appeared at least one third wider than they should. This may be a more anatomically accurate portrayal of the age group (the precise age range was never made quite clear) but when it came to the more intimate scenes, the participants possessed all the lithe grace of beached walruses.
Today was Cannes in bright low December sunshine. There is no port so Arcadia drops anchor in the bay and we are afforded a worm’s eye view of the ship from the tender, which gives me an excuse to quote from this traditional lament, best sung by the Unthanks:
Here’s the tender coming, pressing all the men;
Oh dear hinny, what shall we do then?
Here’s the tender coming, off at Shield’s Bar,
Here’s the tender coming, full of men of war.
Hide thee, canny Geordie, hide thyself away;
Hide thee till the tender makes for Druridge Bay.
If they take thee, Geordie, who’s to win our bread?
Me and little Jackie better off be dead.
The entire town was on parade, walking the seafront from Quai Laubeuf to La Croisette, many with ferrety little dogs in tow. There are dazzling baubles and bangles aplenty, unaffordable one room apartments and beautifully crafted Ducatis but not a single four-wheeled exotic to be seen.
In the pavements outside the Palais des Festivals are handprints of the great and the good preserved in concrete – I was hoping for more from the gifted creator of Edward Scissorhands.
I think I may have been too long at sea.