The English landscape can be just perfect some days. I can’t always put my finger on the reason, but sometimes one can just stop (while on a walk) before a view; and find a moment that is, somehow, idyllic. Staffordshire is, in its own way, the centre of things English of course.
Following the path near the prep-school at Marchington, I had this very feeling.
On another day, another season perhaps, the view might have been dull – but the combined sight of the church on the hill, the golden rapeseed fields and the empty sunlit playing fields all made it quintessentially English.
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