An English afternoon in March
Up this morning to go for a walk with Anton. First time we'd gone for a walk together since October - mainly due to ghastly virus I had over Christmas.
Currently Anton is offensively skinny, due to his so-called Kamikaze diet. For the last week he has not really eaten, and endured headaches and general enervation. He was impeccably prepared for our walk, of course, with the right clothes and equipment.
He had also taken with him about 5000 calories worth of food: slow cooked Boston baked beans, which were contained in a large vacuum flask, a large and delicious pork pie from a specialist pork pie and sausage butcher, and a small snappy container full of a generous helping of Piccalilli sauce. Not to mention a big bag of mixed nuts. I made do with some sandwiches from M&S.
Anton thoughtfully encouraged me to eat some of his pie, as increasing other people's weight around you is an important part of successful slimming.
A really nice four and a half hour walk, quite hilly and walking across fields and through woods and muddy tracks, sometimes in fine misty rain. Primroses, and daffodils out everywhere. Felt great to be out, rather than hunched over my laptop writing endlessly.
Left from Cuckfield and ended up in West Hoathly, in a really nice village pub and restaurant called The Cat Inn, which was across the road from the church. We washed the mud from our boots in puddles outside and walked into a wooden-floored bar, which smelled nicely of woodsmoke from the fire burning in the fireplace. There we were served good pints of Harvey's bitter, while a rugby match played fairly unobtrusively on a small television. Chatting in this cozy pub, warming up and being sat down, I felt a moment of sheer happiness. I couldn't think of anywhere I'd rather be on a March afternoon. Sometimes I love England.
I felt a heart warming surge of delight too when I heard that Manchester Utd, Anton's team, had been knocked out of the FA Cup during our walk. As we drank our pints of Harvey's bitter, Anton had looked up the score on his mobile phone, and on reading the report, had the face of someone receiving a telegram during the first world war. After a decent interval of about thirty seconds or so I began to share some observations about football with him, a subject he seemed reluctant to enlarge on. I carefully explained that the thoughtful and talented Chelsea had only minor opposition to overcome later in the afternoon, before they could reclaim the cup that they won last year.
Anton surprisingly tetchy, refusing for example, to phone for a cab to take us back to a station. We made it home quickly, and we had a final cheeky in the Battle of Trafalgar, where Lorraine met us. I went back to my house to watch Chelsea play the lowly and rudimentary Barnsley. Imagine my horror when Barnsley beat Chelsea, a situation not particularly helped by Lorraine pointing out that Barnsley deserved to win. Later received a text from Anton which I declined to reply to.
This aside, it was a lovely day, which I rounded off by watching one of my all time favourite films: Wings of Desire. One of the most poetic films ever made - and must be influenced by the Duino Elegies by Rilke.
Below Anton sets off into just outside Cuckfield, a glance into a pond, and the Church at West Hoathly.
Up this morning to go for a walk with Anton. First time we'd gone for a walk together since October - mainly due to ghastly virus I had over Christmas.
Currently Anton is offensively skinny, due to his so-called Kamikaze diet. For the last week he has not really eaten, and endured headaches and general enervation. He was impeccably prepared for our walk, of course, with the right clothes and equipment.
He had also taken with him about 5000 calories worth of food: slow cooked Boston baked beans, which were contained in a large vacuum flask, a large and delicious pork pie from a specialist pork pie and sausage butcher, and a small snappy container full of a generous helping of Piccalilli sauce. Not to mention a big bag of mixed nuts. I made do with some sandwiches from M&S.
Anton thoughtfully encouraged me to eat some of his pie, as increasing other people's weight around you is an important part of successful slimming.
A really nice four and a half hour walk, quite hilly and walking across fields and through woods and muddy tracks, sometimes in fine misty rain. Primroses, and daffodils out everywhere. Felt great to be out, rather than hunched over my laptop writing endlessly.
Left from Cuckfield and ended up in West Hoathly, in a really nice village pub and restaurant called The Cat Inn, which was across the road from the church. We washed the mud from our boots in puddles outside and walked into a wooden-floored bar, which smelled nicely of woodsmoke from the fire burning in the fireplace. There we were served good pints of Harvey's bitter, while a rugby match played fairly unobtrusively on a small television. Chatting in this cozy pub, warming up and being sat down, I felt a moment of sheer happiness. I couldn't think of anywhere I'd rather be on a March afternoon. Sometimes I love England.
I felt a heart warming surge of delight too when I heard that Manchester Utd, Anton's team, had been knocked out of the FA Cup during our walk. As we drank our pints of Harvey's bitter, Anton had looked up the score on his mobile phone, and on reading the report, had the face of someone receiving a telegram during the first world war. After a decent interval of about thirty seconds or so I began to share some observations about football with him, a subject he seemed reluctant to enlarge on. I carefully explained that the thoughtful and talented Chelsea had only minor opposition to overcome later in the afternoon, before they could reclaim the cup that they won last year.
Anton surprisingly tetchy, refusing for example, to phone for a cab to take us back to a station. We made it home quickly, and we had a final cheeky in the Battle of Trafalgar, where Lorraine met us. I went back to my house to watch Chelsea play the lowly and rudimentary Barnsley. Imagine my horror when Barnsley beat Chelsea, a situation not particularly helped by Lorraine pointing out that Barnsley deserved to win. Later received a text from Anton which I declined to reply to.
This aside, it was a lovely day, which I rounded off by watching one of my all time favourite films: Wings of Desire. One of the most poetic films ever made - and must be influenced by the Duino Elegies by Rilke.
Below Anton sets off into just outside Cuckfield, a glance into a pond, and the Church at West Hoathly.
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