A day of endorphins.

Ma gave me a iPulley, sleeveless in this case. Basil has also arrived, so for a few das it will be the family square.

Did the traditional bluebell walk from Faygate, and I must have been doing them for more than a decade now. The bluebells were very late this year but even so only about one in a hundred plants were were still in flower. Lots and lots of lesser speedwell though, the most I have ever seen; and also fields full of self-heal, so still plenty of violet blue.

Got the 12.05 train to Faygate, and was the only person getting off there, as is usual. Martin at the Holmbush, greeted me with the traditional It’s not that time of year again is it! and shook my hand. I had a relaxed chat and drink but was sad to hear the brilliant chainsaw woodcarver that was based next door died last year in his thirties due to long term excess consumption.

Called Tamar from Tamar’s field, the traditional spot. Just the answerphone, but there is a new pond and chickens, and chickens increase the entertainment value of any field a thousandfold, especially if there is a cockerel. This one seemed especially thick. Taking so long to focus on the bit of oat bar landing under his beak that one of his brood would get it instead.

Passed a small field of sheep and I bahhed at them. They all came running up to the fence to check, though my offer of long grass provoked little interest.

All of the fields on the walk seemed to have had work done, and new stiles are installed, which did cause my hip joints to protest.

The Frog and Nightgown was open. Ex-Halifax bomber pilot Jim is alive and well and Janet is still as sharp as knives, and was sat outside with friends. They probably guessed I was coming from the fact I cheered loudly when I saw it was open, and again when I saw the new sign (given to them by locals to mark 25 years at the pub).

Janet remembered me. Her friend and neighbour Coral (who runs the Owl Castle b&b) was impressed with that and my pulllover. She asked me to write her a poem, which is something I rarely do, but her name attracted me, Some names, like Beverley for instance, I find hard to rhyme with. Coral sparked verse. It was nothing to do with her being young and good looking, or the fact she kept going Aaaaaw! and Oooooh! when I was telling her about myself.

Coral

The wash and seas of foaming waves

The thrusting life to reach the light

The atoll’s eye that loving craves

Makes coral’s beauty a joy to sight

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