It was going to be him, then it was going to be her but it
ended up being me. A bit of a splodge of a walk over to Spanish Lake and then on
undulations eastwards with rain, strong wind and shafts of winter sunshine
illuminating a gin-clear tor-kissed horizon through veils of drifting drizzle.
A snipe was started near the waterfall and
a buzzard took lazy wing as we dropped down into the gully. Coffee in shelter,
then we trogged up past the sitting hen and so on, picking our way eastwards
over clitter and hummocking grass in a sudden burst of hailstones. Happily
homeward past the big cheese no one wanted and into the Royal Oak for
restoratives where we bumped into Sue and Keith having lunch. How nice.