Saturday, June 02, 2012

Barrington Court (NT)

Leaving Wells we passed the Sherston Inn. Clare told me that a little while ago a bloke who had been banned tried to enter the bar there. The landlady led him by the arm towards the exit; at this point, the bloke's girlfriend poured a pint of beer over her head. A barmaid attempted to help her boss: she was bashed in the face with the beer glass.

Naturally it went to court: the defendant had no assets while prison seemed both overkill and pointless, so she was sentenced to community work. What, I wondered aloud, would they do when she failed to turn up?

This led to a discussion about any conceivable measure to deal with this sort of situation. Our idea was that the defendant should have to wear a tag which continually monitored the sounds of conversation around her. If tell-tale signs of stress were detected in the voices - an argument or a fracas - the tag should do something. My preference was it should emit an annoying sound, like the bleeping when you fail to fasten your seatbelt. This should prove so irritating that all thoughts of violence and confrontation would be ditched in favour of stopping the godd***ed noise!

I fear however that there would be lawsuits from the proximate uninvolved claiming all manner of accident and disturbance. Still, tags are getting smarter every day and I'm sure that there's something here somewhere. Even a smart time-space curfew would spare the rest of us.

Barrington Court is an Elizabethan House about 50 minutes drive from Wells. The gardens are wonderful at present while the house itself features the Antony Gormley exhibition "Field for the British Isles" (pictured below).

Apparently every visitor has a different reaction. Our thoughts veered in the direction of the parasitic: lampreys and leeches; Freud would have had a field day of his own.

We wandered around house and gardens, taking the air and enjoying the sights and scents.

Clare and the White Tree

Barrington Court House

A rest on a bench - concentrate!

The joy of being on a swing

The author fronting Strode House