The weather was so fresh. The old geezer and I went for a walk. Jackson on the lead. Over the main road. In through the gate and there’s the orchard. The trees are budding quite late so there is no blossom.
I had a copy of ‘The Merchant of Venice’, and tested Jim whilst he did his lines. We were both declaiming the bard quite loudly when two women pruners stopped and smiled at us. ‘Bloody exhibitionists!’, I bet they thought.
Down through the apple and pear trees, right at the sign post, left a bit and then down the grassy bank to the gate. Jackson sits very patiently until his masters voice tells him to get a bloody move on (please read that in a Leeds accent).
Down the hill, where BB lost her phone as she and her mate rolled down through the long grass, helplessly sceraming with laughter. Past the mole hills, which Jackson poked his nose in, and down towards the stream.
The water moves gently and Jackson cannot resist it. Even at 94 he can’t stop himself from jumping in, scrambling out and finding some deer dung to roll in. He gets so excited rolling around. I hope I can do that at 94!
Through the big field, past the cut corn and there it is, all along the river bank – lush green leaves. Bunch after bunch of wild garlic.