Of course I know that most landscapes, whether natural or man-made, are constantly evolving, changing, or even (with any luck) improving. But I suspect many of us, deep down, are incurable Romantics who, like me, enjoy nothing more than the sight of a bit of old-fashioned, falling-to-pieces Romantic Decay.

The case I have in mind here is the old Osney Mill building, next door to the only remaining fragment of Osney Abbey, the Augustinian priory founded by Robert D’Oilly in 1129 — which briefly became Oxford Cathedral and was once upon a time numbered among the largest churches in Europe. For the past couple of decades, whenever I walked to or from this newspaper’s offices in Osney Mead (built on what was once a meadow belonging to the monks), I have enjoyed the view across the River Thames of the rotting, red brick remains of the old mill — with a sizeable sycamore growing on its inside and poking its branches through the vaguely classical windows. “Lovely,” I have always thought to myself, (guiltily and secretly).

Now the building, which was gutted by fire in 1946, is covered in scaffolding and is being turned into ten riverside apartments which — I am sure — will be wonderful in every way; and which of course, when I stop being sentimental and start thinking sensibly, I applaud; particularly as the new homes will largely be powered by a mini hydro-electric plant, based on an Archimedean screw, and using the fast-flowing water of the Osney Mill Cut, the old mill race, to generate energy and at the same time reduce the risk of flooding.

The site being developed belongs to the Munsey family, four generations of whom have worked in Oxfordshire as millers, and who still own a mill at Wantage. It includes an old gatehouse of the Abbey which has now been dated to 1410.

In 1222, the Synod of Oxford was convened at Osney Abbey, during which meeting the assembled divines not only adopted St George as England’s patron saint but also decided to take a harder line towards non-Christians. Interestingly, the remaining Abbey gatehouse bears a plaque to someone called Robert of Reading who, poor man, was executed near there on April 17, 1222, simply for having a Jewish girlfriend and himself taking up Judaism.

The original priory, founded according to legend after Robert D’Oilly’s wife Edith was persuaded into believing that a flock of magpies flying over the meadow were in reality restless souls from Purgatory, was raised to the rank of Abbey in about 1154. By 1542, when Henry VIII made the last Abbot, Robert King, Bishop of his new diocese of Oxford, the church was 332 feet long. It then became Oxford Cathedral until 1546 when that status was transferred to St Frideswides at Christ Church.

After that, the long ruination of the abbey began: first the bells and lead were taken away — with the main bell, ironically enough, finding its way eventually to Christ Church; then, after the place was leased to a clothier, the stained glass windows, along with iron and woodwork, were removed. And, as if this was not bad enough, an explosion in a powder house in 1643, destroyed much of what remained.

All the same, a surprising amount of the building survived late into the 17th century.

Of the old mills in Oxford, Osney was one of the last to cease grinding flour. Castle Mill, which had been in existence since the 11th century, was demolished for a road-widening scheme in 1930; Iffley Mill burned down in 1908; and Sandford Mill made way for a housing development as late as 1985. Plus ça change, as they say. No, point being sentimental.