Monday, 2 November 2009
My son's favoured place seems to be the whiskers of the Uffington White Horse. It's just off the Ridgeway and dates back to the Bronze Age (about 1000BC). On Thursday he stood entranced, looking out across Oxfordshire for fifteen minutes; last time we came it was twenty, but always standing on the whiskers, and always, seemingly at peace. One's requested not to stand on this ancient monument, but he's been dealt a raw enough deal in life without denying him such a simple pleasure.