Holiday

I have been on a short holiday in a part of the country I have never been to before. American friends ( a husband and wife I had stayed with in Los Angeles) had taken a furnished apartment for a month on the attic floor of a large house conversion. They had a spare room which they offered to me for a week.

Above: staying in the apartment was a surreal experience. No radio, no television, no internet, no telephone, no newspapers, no people (apart from my friends and an occasional glimpse of a neighbour).

Above: being on the attic floor the apartment consisted of tiny rooms, low ceilings, awkward passages. Although the total floor space was quite large, there was a slight sense of claustrophobia. Apart from birdsong, there was absolutely no noise from outside the flat.

Above: my room was little more than a cupboard. The bed was narrow and a bit hard. Lying in bed at night I had the sense that the room was swaying.

Above: the view from my room was sensational. I would sit on the windowseat and gaze out at the landscape for large parts of the day. Although we were in a fairly developed part of the country I couldn't see any trace of the modern world.

Above: it was lambing season, and in the surrounding fields the baby lambs were gambolling around. This little lamb was lame, and limped everywhere. All the week the weather was fine, as if summer had arrived.

My friends went out sight-seeing each day, but I preferred to just stay in the apartment and read, or walk through the fields to the nearest town. I got through five books I have been meaning to read for ages (excellent books, full of ideas). At no point did I ever feel lonely or bored.

Only once did I join them on one of their excursions. We went to a National Trust property in the west. Rather too many people in the house to completely enjoy the visit.

Only the ground floor was worth seeing.

Gloomy entrance hall, the wood painted to look like stone. Sitting room with steel engravings, Meissen china flowers, bookcase full of a jumble of old books. Ghastly paintings (much admired) up the stairs. Estate room with heraldic china, cavernous black fireplace, faded tatty Persian carpet. Ultra-formal dining room with everything designed for display. Shabby and uncomfortable drawing room.

Afterwards we had a cup of tea at one of the tables in the open air. The heat from the sun was intense. Waves upon waves of people were passing from the house to the gardens and out into the parkland.

Looking back at the austere facade of the house, I thought of the hundreds of other properties owned by the National Trust and the millions of people who visit them each year (the organisation has three million paid up members, far more than any political party). Although not overtly party political, the National Trust does have an ideology and vision that it projects into society. And as a "political re-education facility" it is far more successful than anything set up by any totalitarian regime.