Wednesday, March 10, 2021

Deliciously wet

I am sitting in bed writing this, which I have not done in ages.

There is something delicious about an unashamedly, uncompromisingly rainy day that was forecast as such and then delivered. It takes away my choices and means I feel able to stay in bed reading for longer in the morning, and I can start painting as soon as I'm showered and dressed. You have no idea of the complexities of living with a stranglehold superego urging me to 'get things done' and 'not waste time' and 'make sure you get outside for some fresh air and exercise.'

I find this so, even in the context of a pandemic, even in the context of this interminable winter, where the hellebores and snowdrops are still reigning in my garden, and only 15 of the 150 daffodils are out.

Anyway...I'm losing track of the walks and the weeks, but here are some photographs of a recent walk with Liz on Froggatt Edge that I haven't shown you because my lovely guests have been giving me a rest from writing the blog.

Liz, already euphoric because of the sunny walk and the view, exclaiming:
'And now there's a lark!

Calver Bridge from Froggatt Edge

FYI here is Calver Bridge closer to, last August:

And back to Froggatt Edge:

A millstone left behind. The rock on the edge is called  Millstone Grit.

On our last walk we ended up in Bakewell where a great little family run deli/takeaway has just re-opened, and Liz treated me to a bacon sarnie. 

It was the first thing I'd eaten in months that had been cooked by someone else. I love bacon sandwiches, but rarely cook them at home because the smell offends Dave's aspergery-sensitive sense of smell. Oh! Just remembered! The last thing I ate before this, that someone else cooked, was a bacon sandwich cooked by Dave as a Christmas breakfast treat. 

Anyway, here I am sitting on a wall by the water meadows:

Photo by Liz

It is such a trial having chunky legs. I am not fat, but my legs are so muscly/thick that I have to wear men's jeans, and if I try on those ubiquitous trousers (variously described as cropped or ankle skimming, depending on how posh the catalogue is) I look like a barrel with feet.

Ooh! Just remembered! I found a new series on Netflix last night that is ace. It's called The Bold Type. As Mary's daughter said the other day 'We can't talk about Covid or politics, they're too depressing, and nothing ever happens, so all we can talk about is television.'

You can see the break from the blog hasn't reduced the trivia quotient in my posts, but I'm still trucking.

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