Welcome to the attic of my mind. Mind the stairs, click the light on and have a rummage around my thoughts on writing, the art of everything second-hand, the natural world, music . . . just about everything. Probably not much about sport.
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, and 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, almost electric turquoise. Ours are all faded pastel pink and blue. 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 tractor 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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