Monday, 4 March 2013

Things in odd places

Went for the normal stroll round the field to get the day moving. It was a lovely morning: everything looked just as it always does, usual trees in usual places — surprising if they weren't — the minutiae of this same daily walk: rusty coil of wire, boulder in the middle of the river, the hill of a hundred Cypress trees, and . . . a hot water bottle — in the middle of the path between the two fields.


Apart from the mud, it looked quite new, rather an unusual colour for such an item. Ours are all faded pastel pink and blue, municipal looking if there are municipal rubber feet warmers. How did it get there? Had someone experienced a particularly strong sleep-walking episode and taken the bottle into the middle of a muddy field? A farmer with need of comfort in the recent cold snap, had lost it due to his tractor's tremor? Or a passing plane: someone at 50,000 feet had somehow flushed it through one of those aircraft loos that make that scary sssccchhhhhlep noise. 

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