Snow and a dogfish
Having been about its secret ministry, there was snow this morning. Woke up envisioning a cup of tea with beaded bubbles winking at the brim, and thinking of John Keats. Followed this with a lovely breakfast of smoked salmon, kippers and scrambled eggs. Then I spent some time playing with Paddy the small dog, with a tennis ball which it returned and then did a fair amount of growly stuff as you wrenched it from its mouth, and repeated x 50.
Dogs and Peter Kennys have over the years reached an uneasy entente cordiale, but this was rather a nice dog. Amazingly it went for a swim too, after we'd taken a short walk past the local church and along a long hedge up a hill, then down cloying mud tracks towards the valley of the river Avon. Apparently it likes swimming so much it has to be dragged back inland before it drowns of exhaustion. There was one exciting bit when Paddy almost disappeared over the weir, but John reeled him in with the extensible lead.
The sun was nice, and Lorraine and I, sat with Sue and John and their daughter Harry outside the Fish and Anchor, which had been half submerged the year before in the floods. The sun was warm, and the snow retreated to the shadows of trees, and the high hills nearby.
Having been about its secret ministry, there was snow this morning. Woke up envisioning a cup of tea with beaded bubbles winking at the brim, and thinking of John Keats. Followed this with a lovely breakfast of smoked salmon, kippers and scrambled eggs. Then I spent some time playing with Paddy the small dog, with a tennis ball which it returned and then did a fair amount of growly stuff as you wrenched it from its mouth, and repeated x 50.
Dogs and Peter Kennys have over the years reached an uneasy entente cordiale, but this was rather a nice dog. Amazingly it went for a swim too, after we'd taken a short walk past the local church and along a long hedge up a hill, then down cloying mud tracks towards the valley of the river Avon. Apparently it likes swimming so much it has to be dragged back inland before it drowns of exhaustion. There was one exciting bit when Paddy almost disappeared over the weir, but John reeled him in with the extensible lead.
The sun was nice, and Lorraine and I, sat with Sue and John and their daughter Harry outside the Fish and Anchor, which had been half submerged the year before in the floods. The sun was warm, and the snow retreated to the shadows of trees, and the high hills nearby.
Later in the afternoon we all went off to another pub not too far away in Bretforton called The Fleece Inn, which was a gorgeous old place that smelled of woodsmoke. We had a late Sunday lunch there and it was excellent.
Lorraine and I, after fond farewells to the wonderfully hospitable John and Sue and their girls, then headed back down to Brighton, having a smooth and excellent ride back singing along to CDs and eating Starbursts, which used to be called Opal Fruits.
Home to find an email from Bob Grove, an old pal I've not heard from in many years.
Below snow, Paddy swimming, hills and snow and the Fleece Inn at Bretforton.
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