Spring coming
I’m travelling on an overcrowded train from Southampton to Trowbridge. As usual there are only two carriages so everyone is crammed together giving it the atmosphere of a bad-tempered free festival. There’s a kind of arms race of ipods – you need to have some music to drown out the maddening tinny beat of your neighbour’s earphones or Gameboy. The train crawls north-west stopping at a succession of small rural stations and as people board the accents become more ludicrously west country by the mile.
If you peer through the mud-flecked windows you can make out waterlogged fields, leafless trees, the odd bloom of daffodils and blossom. It’s been a mild winter and I think our blood has now thickened enough to withstand temperatures below 10 degrees Centigrade without bursting into tears.
Yesterday as everyday I went for a morning walk with the dogs. Sarah took me on a ‘short cut’. She had discovered between Freshford and Westwood, a lovely hidden hamlet called Iford. It was drizzling and we were fully equipped with tall wellies, raincoats and hats, but the entrance to one field was so horrendously muddy and waterlogged that my boot got stuck and I lost my balance and started to fall over. The prospect of lying lengthwise in foot thick mud was an alarming one, so in desperation I flung myself on top of Nog who was crushed by my bulk into the waterlogged field. I, thankfully, only sustained only a one-third immersion in the Readybrek-like ooze. Nog was very good about it – not even whimpering once at the indignity. He watched me quietly as I stood dripping, while Sarah doubled up with laughter.
Spring is almost upon us and we have survived our first winter. We are very pale, podgy and a bit grumpy, but we are alive. It’s been kind of fun at times – the sheer novelty of getting soaking wet, or freezing cold. That novelty will no doubt wear off as the years go by.
When the sun does shine, and it does on occasion in this part of Britain, it is a fantastic feeling. You sit and close your eyes with the slight warming sensation playing about your cheeks. It’s like a sense returning that you forgot you had. So pity those British tourists who you see roasting themselves dark red by the hotel pools in Dubai. They have been sadly deprived.
If you peer through the mud-flecked windows you can make out waterlogged fields, leafless trees, the odd bloom of daffodils and blossom. It’s been a mild winter and I think our blood has now thickened enough to withstand temperatures below 10 degrees Centigrade without bursting into tears.
Yesterday as everyday I went for a morning walk with the dogs. Sarah took me on a ‘short cut’. She had discovered between Freshford and Westwood, a lovely hidden hamlet called Iford. It was drizzling and we were fully equipped with tall wellies, raincoats and hats, but the entrance to one field was so horrendously muddy and waterlogged that my boot got stuck and I lost my balance and started to fall over. The prospect of lying lengthwise in foot thick mud was an alarming one, so in desperation I flung myself on top of Nog who was crushed by my bulk into the waterlogged field. I, thankfully, only sustained only a one-third immersion in the Readybrek-like ooze. Nog was very good about it – not even whimpering once at the indignity. He watched me quietly as I stood dripping, while Sarah doubled up with laughter.
Spring is almost upon us and we have survived our first winter. We are very pale, podgy and a bit grumpy, but we are alive. It’s been kind of fun at times – the sheer novelty of getting soaking wet, or freezing cold. That novelty will no doubt wear off as the years go by.
When the sun does shine, and it does on occasion in this part of Britain, it is a fantastic feeling. You sit and close your eyes with the slight warming sensation playing about your cheeks. It’s like a sense returning that you forgot you had. So pity those British tourists who you see roasting themselves dark red by the hotel pools in Dubai. They have been sadly deprived.
The slight blot on the horizon is I apparently have a wisdom tooth coming through. After making around fifty calls to find an NHS dentist (there may be a dozen or so left in Britain) I finally managed to get an appointment. They confirmed that the nagging pain I have was a wisdom tooth and have booked me in to the hospital to have it removed. When I asked how long that might take they said around six months. Hmmm...
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