The day before my youngest daughter started at her new school, I thought it would be good to get out, to take our minds off the impending trauma. It was a nice day, so Tatton Park seemed like a good idea. I’d been once before, many years ago, and like lots of things these days, I couldn’t remember much about it.
We skipped the house, saving it for another day. The warm sun was too good to squander, so we wandered around the parkland, which was undulating and extensive, but obviously tamed. We got to the mere, and I noticed something odd going on on the opposite bank. As we got nearer, it became clear that something was being filmed [unfortunately, I hadn’t brought my telephoto lens, so my photo could have been better].
It occurred to me that our gawping from the far bank was probably unhelpful. But, as we walked on, it occurred to me that the regular fly-overs of enormous noisy jet aeroplanes was probably a bigger problem for the Director. So much for a setting of pastoral tranquillity.
We failed to find a route to the other side of the mere, assuming that there wasn’t official access. I wonder if I’ll ever know what they were filming. If you ever see a TV programme or film with a couple of fully-clothed ladies in a pond, be sure to look out for a nosey photographer in the background.