From the comfort of my armchair by a roasting fire, I was drawn by the attractively set out leaflet, ' English Country Walks'.
My curiosity whetted, I perused the said leaflet. How fascinating.
It was but a brief time before I was parking my car alongside a venerable English pub called 'The Dog and Duck' and was striding out with an ancient English Church to my left.
How excellent this all is I thought. a walk in the 'Garden of England' how wonderful.
I recalled a recent visitor, a metropolitan type, who had the temerity to call this part of the world, a desolate, cabbage strewn
gulag. In my anger at this bounder I kicked out a rather too large
stone and frankly impaired my big toe.
In time I found myself ambling through a quintessentially English
village and there I saw to my great pride that most of the locals were out exercising themselves by cleaning their
cars. It was a most invigorating sight and I was caused to think how noble and hardy a savage my countryman is.
The winter is best for observing the bird life, the leaflet enthused, for a moment I thought I was weeping with the beauty of it all
till I realised my eyes were watering with the cold.
At this point bird bird life appeared flapping and fussing from a gate, which I supposed to be a farm, to my right, clucking furiously obviously well indoctrinated by seasons of walkers who had trod
this very path.
I was delighted by the sight of such fowl, so much so
that I fished in my pocket for some crumbs from my cheese sandwich which had been my recent repast. The nourishment offered seemed to over excite the Biddy's, one of which leapt a good three feet and bit spitefully, I thought, into my proffered hand.
As I hurried on to safety I worried about that glint in the biddy's
eye, which I surmised to be malevolent. I looked at the leaflet again, '..observe the prominent garlic mustard along the hedgerow...there is mallard, teal, wigeon and the rare hen harrier can be seen...' I read on and hoped that the writer of such words was earning his living from the written word, for if not, there is little justice.
It is the smells of the countryside whic most invigorate one's memory and there was an increasing strong smell, which I deemed to be a waft. I mounted a small sty with some difficulty I might add and there before me was endless fields of well cabbages.
I hurried on thinking how industrous our farmers are.
My curiosity whetted, I perused the said leaflet. How fascinating.
It was but a brief time before I was parking my car alongside a venerable English pub called 'The Dog and Duck' and was striding out with an ancient English Church to my left.
How excellent this all is I thought. a walk in the 'Garden of England' how wonderful.
I recalled a recent visitor, a metropolitan type, who had the temerity to call this part of the world, a desolate, cabbage strewn
gulag. In my anger at this bounder I kicked out a rather too large
stone and frankly impaired my big toe.
In time I found myself ambling through a quintessentially English
village and there I saw to my great pride that most of the locals were out exercising themselves by cleaning their
cars. It was a most invigorating sight and I was caused to think how noble and hardy a savage my countryman is.
The winter is best for observing the bird life, the leaflet enthused, for a moment I thought I was weeping with the beauty of it all
till I realised my eyes were watering with the cold.
At this point bird bird life appeared flapping and fussing from a gate, which I supposed to be a farm, to my right, clucking furiously obviously well indoctrinated by seasons of walkers who had trod
this very path.
I was delighted by the sight of such fowl, so much so
that I fished in my pocket for some crumbs from my cheese sandwich which had been my recent repast. The nourishment offered seemed to over excite the Biddy's, one of which leapt a good three feet and bit spitefully, I thought, into my proffered hand.
As I hurried on to safety I worried about that glint in the biddy's
eye, which I surmised to be malevolent. I looked at the leaflet again, '..observe the prominent garlic mustard along the hedgerow...there is mallard, teal, wigeon and the rare hen harrier can be seen...' I read on and hoped that the writer of such words was earning his living from the written word, for if not, there is little justice.
It is the smells of the countryside whic most invigorate one's memory and there was an increasing strong smell, which I deemed to be a waft. I mounted a small sty with some difficulty I might add and there before me was endless fields of well cabbages.
I hurried on thinking how industrous our farmers are.
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