bloke moves to france with confused partner and two barking-mad terriers
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
One of my favourite dogwalks is up the lane out the back. I like it 'cos I don't have to use the car to get there and there's an old granite cross at the end where I always stop for a quick chat. That done, I then have the option of forking right along a track to the mushroom wood or taking another track which goes straight on down the wooded valley. This evening I took the valley route and trotted down the rutted footpath which I've walked a hundred times before. It starts off with some budding raspberry bushes on the right (which look very promising this year), followed by a small pine forest on the left. It's a peaceful little copse, very quiet and calming with a soft, pine needle carpet which deadens sound. I've often stopped and sat there listening to the odd bit of birdsong whilst idly picking moss off an old tree trunk. And I remember sheltering there under one of the biggest trees during a torrential downpour a couple of years ago with a shivering Sprocket by my side while Jock paddled in the gushing waters that rushed down the path. But ce soir, bit of a surprise, I discovered the forest's no longer there...
Bohemian hermit recluse hiding in the mist-shrouded hills and backwoods of central France; went to art school in the mid-Sixties and never really left; masochistic supporter of Aldershotnil FC; fascinated by the mystery of disappearing odd socks; follically, cosmetically and vertically challenged but horizontally unchallenged, otherwise perfect (it says here); probably one of the luckiest geezers in the whole wide world.