Nearing the end of what the Met Office will no doubt declare ‘the shittiest June on record’, a day of glorious sunshine.
At lunchtime, I took Rosie the cocker spaniel for a walk around the lanes. The bridleway at the bottom of the field in front of our house was looking magnificently overgrown, with only a narrow path winding its way through the grasses, nettles, and brambles. Butterflies and less pleasant insects were everywhere.
Jen, Rosie and I repeated the walk this evening, only to discover some public-spirited soul had passed through during the afternoon and strimmed down most the nettles and brambles. For good measure, they had also clipped back a number of nearby tree branches.
When will people get it into their heads the countryside is not supposed to look like a bloody garden?
“…wonderfully droll, witty and entertaining… At their best Carter’s moorland walks and his meandering intellectual talk are part of a single, deeply coherent enterprise: a restless inquiry into the meaning of place and the nature of self.”
—Mark Cocker, author and naturalist
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