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Coax ancient voices from the landscape
May. 25th, 2021 01:51 pmMy first sight of swallows (or swifts) today. I wish I could give them a bluer sky to fly in - these concrete-coloured days aren't a good welcome to bird or human. It's not all rain - but the odd glint of sun seems like so much fools' gold. Then again some afternoons the rain comes scented with the blossom of the may, so
An hour ago, a fallow (I think) deer grazing where the Halls had their allotment: coffee-grey, little budding antlers. He seemed peaceful.
Yesterday I chatted with a woman who keeps three horses in a little paddock up the lane. We often wish each other a good morning but I thought it past time I talked a bit more. Two of the horses are getting on a bit and have asthma and other conditions; the latest arrival is called Nero, a chocolate-dark little feller who's still playful but settling down after a frisly start. None of the three have done much more when I've said hello than nibble my hand then let it go when they realise I'm not edible. In the evening I walked down into Catney to meet a friend at the (massively) revamped Boat. It was good to see him but it's not a place I feel I'm at home in anymore; it's about twice the size now, and the prices have shot up: you're talking five quid for a pint, and as for the menu.... well, the cheeseboard has improved - you can now slather your Cheddar with quince jelly! But I'm too skint for the place. I'll miss the nights where I could read and talk to someone by a little woodfire. Ho hum. If only there was a socialist equivalent of Wetherspoons...
My second jab is Thursday morning. It won't resolve all the anxieties that hit me in a handy consolidated lump sum last week, but it'll help. Trying to live more kindly with myself today: a DVD or two later, almost certainly the James Mason-fronted documentary The London Nobody Knows. The original book by Geoffrey Fletcher charmed me
An hour ago, a fallow (I think) deer grazing where the Halls had their allotment: coffee-grey, little budding antlers. He seemed peaceful.
Yesterday I chatted with a woman who keeps three horses in a little paddock up the lane. We often wish each other a good morning but I thought it past time I talked a bit more. Two of the horses are getting on a bit and have asthma and other conditions; the latest arrival is called Nero, a chocolate-dark little feller who's still playful but settling down after a frisly start. None of the three have done much more when I've said hello than nibble my hand then let it go when they realise I'm not edible. In the evening I walked down into Catney to meet a friend at the (massively) revamped Boat. It was good to see him but it's not a place I feel I'm at home in anymore; it's about twice the size now, and the prices have shot up: you're talking five quid for a pint, and as for the menu.... well, the cheeseboard has improved - you can now slather your Cheddar with quince jelly! But I'm too skint for the place. I'll miss the nights where I could read and talk to someone by a little woodfire. Ho hum. If only there was a socialist equivalent of Wetherspoons...
My second jab is Thursday morning. It won't resolve all the anxieties that hit me in a handy consolidated lump sum last week, but it'll help. Trying to live more kindly with myself today: a DVD or two later, almost certainly the James Mason-fronted documentary The London Nobody Knows. The original book by Geoffrey Fletcher charmed me