The North wind doth blow
The north wind doth blow and we shall have no…. trains
So what will poor Jeni do then poor thing
She'll sit in the bath
And keep herself warm
And hide her head under her wing
Talk about the best laid plans of mice and me. My big fancy party I was going to has been confined to the rubbish bin. I cannot go into London Town without knowing I can get home again. And British Rail….well I don't need to tell you.
So I put on my MBT trainers and rather than walking like a Maasai warrior I ended up slipping and sliding like an East Sussex loon.
I had already driven into the twillage to collect my blood strips from the doctor, so that when I overeate, as I inevitably will, I'll see just how bad my 8 pints of blood is / or should it be are? Woteva…..
Driving in MBT's is not easy anymore than walking down the steps into the supermarket. It wasn't that busy but there was a distinct whiff of panic. Cream or no cream? Too soon for mince pies, worra about the gammon…..And that was just me.
So I decided whilst the rain was still only a threat in the air I should get some exercise.
I walked down the hill. the mud from Rotherfield Woods still caked to me soles, I slipped on some wet beech leaves. Righted myself and was delighted that I was outside my head and not in it.
There's a fancy house at the end of our road, used to belong to a banker. He's now in a home with dementia, and his dear lady wife is living in a little flat near to him. Makes you think doesn't it. He was loaded but he still has gone the way of so many without money. Money really can't buy you optimum health, well not when you're already on the slippery slope.
The house was bought by a family with young children. They took over the tennis court, the field, the barn, and employed somebody to come in and make it looked lived in, They only occupy for a couple of weeks in the summer and maybe an occasional Christmas. Absentee occupiers. Difficult when so many people are homeless.
Anyway I marched round the bend, and called to the sheep munching there way through the wet field.
Down my avenue, gave the tree a kiss, slipped again, licked my finger to check out the direction of the wind and decided it was definitely a North Easterly.
The sound of the wind was really doing its stuff, drowning out any ferocious Fairsle thoughts I may have tried to knit.
A quick right into the outdoor pursuit centre, nobody there but a lone man sweeping up leaves. Thankless task, every time he turned round to get his shovel the leaves were blown all over the path again. He'll be there till nightfall.
The stream was high, and the sky got darker by the minute.
The steep road levelled off after two hundred steps. The hedges had been trimmed. The holly and the ivy, the hawthorn and the hazel cut back revealing their stripped branches. The smell of sharp, green was in the air. Really delicious, fresh, twiggy smell. Past the stable and the house where the feral dog lived, the road was covered in twigs, branches and loadsa leaves.
Up the slope, my MBT's giving me just the bounce I needed, whilst the wind whistled a major third through the kissing gate. I had a little carol with it.
The racketing roll of the wind through the rose hips drowned out an aeroplane. Then a pheasant and crow competed with each other through the blustering heath. Up the hill towards the farm. The wind ripped up moss on the ground. Turned right and the wooden sign post looked a little fragile.
Four black hens and three brown chickadees came running out of their winter barn. Chirruping and cackling. I shouted I would be back to feed them, 'But not today.' I warned.. I love that chickens remember you….
The eucalyptus trees were groaning, the wind had bent them double giving them a jolly good spanking, by the time I got back to the absentee cottage the wind sounded like a convoy of articulated lorries racing up the road.
So now I really do have to make a shopping list for Christmas day and boxing day. People will descend and there needs to be enough to feed my framily, which at the mere mention of food open their mouths like starving birds.
I have booked myself into Pilates for later, but if I'm honest I'm not sure that clenching my buttocks is going to win out over a bag of new Bafta films.
The North wind doth blow still I don't think we'll have snow But I will be getting into that bath To keep myself warm and finish my new book.
Lunch now though…..
Jeni Barnett tells of her scrumptious time at Good Food Live in her first audiobook! Download NOW from iTunes