TAFF - pg 24 so in a moment of wry humour he dubbed it O.D.T.A.A. and from then trade picked up - people just had to stop and enquire what the hell it meant. Don guessed it by the way. The garage is on the site of the Battle of Tewksebury - the "Bloody Meadow" of 1471 A.D. and it was from a window of Gup's Hill Manor that Queen Margaret watched her Lancastrian forces de- feated by the Yorkists. On the way back we dropped into Tewksebury Ab- bey, the present incumbent of which has spent an enormous of his own money in restoring it. We wandered around for awhile and I was just quietly congratulating myself at having manouvred Don pass the steps to the top of the tower when Canon Purefly, the incumbent, spotted Don's camera, said there was a wonderful view from the top of the tower and had taken the admission fees before we quite realised what had happened. As Don said, the good Canon coul have made a fortune as a barker at a fair. But I had had a reason for avoiding the tower. Heights don't bother me in the least, but spiral staircases do. I don't know why, but they just make my hair stand on end. And right at the top the stairs became so narrow that I sondered how Don was coping. Canon Purefoy was right, of course, there was a wonderful view from the top of the tower. There was a catwalk all round, but at one point Don slipped and as he said after- wards, for one awful second he thought he was falling two or three hund- red feet. The following day I took Don to Bourton-on-the-Water, a very beautiful village that is known as the Venice of the Cotswoles. The river Windrush runs through the center of the village and at short intervals little stone bridges span the river. Burton-on-the-Water had three places of interest for the visitor - Birdland, which we did not have time to visit, the Wit- chcraft Museum, and the Model Village. The latter is in the gardens of the Old New Inn and is a Lilliputian replica of Burton in the water. All the buildings are of Cotswold stone and were about waist high to me but not much more than Knee high to Don. There was a perfect copy of Bourton Church and here Don had a slice of luck. He wanted a copy of the church and was waiting for someone to stand by it when along came a parson and his wife and the padre very obligingly stood by the model church while Don took a photograph. There was even a model of the model village and a model of the model of the model village. Then space ran out. Our next call was at the Witchcraft Museum, where the girl selling the admission tickets gave a whinny of alarm when she saw Don's camera. It seemed that they had had trouble with professional photographers trying to take a crafty snap or two. However, we managed to persuade her that Don was not a professional and we went in. The lighting was not too good and Don used a flash to take shot's of the Witch's Kitchen, the room of the Horned God, and the living altar. This last, of course, is a model of a girl with her feet on the ground but her back laid on a wide slab and she is grasping a candle in either hadn. There is a strip of cloth ac- ross her, of course, but two old ladies who came along, gasped, tut-tut- ted, and said "How disgusting!" but whether they referred to the alter, or to the fact that Don and I were taking a photograph of it I don't know. If the truth were known, I expect the dear old souls thoroughly enjoyed themselves looking round. Of course, I did suggest to Don that he he could say that he took the photo at an actual ceremony and that the living altar was one of the femmefans. Don thought this a good idea and said cheerfully he'd say I was the altar. Why don't I keep my big mouth shut?