Yesterday, Sunday, which felt like a Saturday on account of today being a proxy Sunday-cum-bank holiday, we finished up the night in Helen and Mike’s garden, drinking wine in little enough light for us not to be able to see who else was there.
Going on the number of voices I’m guessing it was a couple of dozen.
Ostensibly, it was to celebrate Mike’s newly completed pergola, which is very impressive, but was at the opposite end of the garden to the food and drink, so didn’t get that much of a look-in. Even so, we were the last to leave, so weren’t up until late morning.
I should really have stayed at home and done pre-holiday things, like wearing in my new shoes or playing with the zips on the new luggage, but I succumbed to the lure of the sunshine and went out for a ‘short’ walk, which lasted three hours.
It was sooooo hot. I can feel the gently nibble of burn on my legs. Serves me right for going so far; I went so far I had to get the bus home. After tramping across the fields, though, I eventually made it to Little Waltham, the next little village north of us. It’s all pristine, with neatly-pressed edges, a bridge over a clean slow river and a well-mown cricket pitch, being used by the local club. I sat on the boundary waiting for the bus, watching the batsmen slowly lolloping from one end of the pitch to the other.
Despite the slight burn, I suspect that this may be the last gasp of summer, so I’m glad that I was naughty and still haven’t unpacked my new shoes.
I’ll walk them in on a mountain.
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