It’s Alan’s birthday weekend. He decided we should go for a walk in t’country. It involved getting up early, having Darren collect us, meeting Ruth and John (who were very nice) and going out to Tilton to do the same walk Alan had done the week before with his folks. We started out at about 11am. It was muggy. We were slathered in factor 50+.
We negotiated the teeny tiniest, most nettley, overgrown piece of public footpath in the world and wandered into a field with a horse in it. His name was Rambo and he was the friendliest horse I’ve ever met. He came and said hello and let us stroke his nose. And even when it was obvious that we didn’t have any food he kept following us. Rambo and I had our photo taken and he slobbered on my t-shirt in an affectionate manner. I felt bad when we had to leave.
As well as horses we met a number of dogs, ranging from barky and territorial to out-for-a-walk and terribly happy to see us. There were also cowardly sheep, cute little lambs with waggly tails, and the most enormous and menacing herds of cows in the world. We had to cross a couple of cow-fields. The cows were maliciously blocking our access to the stile in both of them. And then looking pissed off when we tried to get by. One of them had a beard. Knowing that Pete has had ‘encounters’ with cows before, I was slightly worried by the whole thing. But we escaped intact. And with a new appreciation of how easy it would be to die if a cow decided to sit on you.
We had to close our eyes and make a leap of faith across an unassuming but perilously fetid looking bog, and then clamber up a particularly steep bit of the world. I got to pretend I was Brian Blessed at the top though. And then we ate lunch in a 300 year old pub. Ruth and I had shandies. Nyum. And then on the way back to the car we had to navigate a hilarious bit of horse/cow/sheep trodden undulant mudcake. I was doing well until I stepped in a wet bit and nearly had my shoe sucked off. Sshlurp. Must remember to clean my shoes before work on Monday.
By the time we got back to the cars it was even muggier. The cloud had cleared and the sun was baking us nicely. Everyone had the most delightful sweat patches. Pete and I were hot and surly in a particularly Northern manner. As pleasant as that bit of the country is, it was time to leave.
When we got home we were hit with a blast of domesticity and decided that we really needed to cut the lawn. It was at about knee height. Not owning a lawn mower inhibited our chopping abilities though. We had a fair whack at it with the strimmer but eventually had to give in and do a trip to B&Q. We bought a cheap and cheery Flymo cut and suck jobby. It did alright considering the bockety, clumpy, weed and twig infested nightmare that is our lawn. Roll on the day we hire a rotavator.
It’d be nice to think that we could have a nice day of loafing around tomorrow but we’ve got a plasterer turning up on Tuesday. Must crack on. Sigh.