Daft as a brush, a brush with the law and brush aside. The Oxford Brush Company store in Burford had every style of brush but these were not there. Just as well. The small store was lined with brushes which spoke to my OCD (now known as the “Oxford Company Disorder”). I wanted and needed everything including the horse tail brush (we have no horse) and the moustache brush (Ivy may have a beard but there is no moustache in our home).
The flexible radiator brush was my end. No, it was the tiny bottle brush with the soft tip. Perhaps it was the boot brush. Or the tiny rake for collecting brushed animal hairs instead of brushing them under the carpet. We needed to get out of there fast. How I loved the order and the sense of everythingness. Made by hand and so obligatory.
Husband and Ivy were keen to move on from the store and explore Burford in all its temporary sunniness. I managed to spot these must-have brushes as I was dragged out the entrance door:
- Lawnmower brush
- Motorbike brush
- Hiking shoe brush
- Car snow brush
- Deck chair brush
- Loo edge brush
- Cobweb brush
- Bathtub brush
- Vinyl phonograph brush
- Hat brush
- Hair catcher brush
- Hairbrush cleaning brush
- Beekeeper’s brush
- Pot plant brush
- Aquarium brush.
After the visit to this store, I realised I was going to have to brush up on brushes. Soon we were walking down the hill of this mini High Street and down to the River Windrush (I am sure it was WindBrush) with old graves on the church side. We tip toed between the snowdrops and compared the years on the wobbly tombstones. A brush with death for some but for others, pushing-up the snowdrop blooms. What better place than the Cotswolds to admire our new life in broad brush strokes while ambling through an old cemetery.
