Ramblin' Man

Welcome to the Heffer Dome

Left to my own devices, and home alone, my default position is invariably sitting in a favourite chair with a glass of something and reading a book with a cat on my knee. But when the mood takes me I love to walk. Into the great wide open. And living where I do, the great wide open is nearer than it’s ever been.

On Saturday the Lady of the house went on a 48 hour smash and grab raid in search of shoes and handbags. I went rambling. And  I was joined by two wingmen. Well, one of them was a wingman – he sported a black beard and seemed to instinctively know where he was going. She was a vision in red ankle socks.

We rambled up hill and we rambled down dale. The views were stunning and the weather held. We swapped stories, cups of tea and chocolate bars. And we saw some cows, 12 to be precise. It was a figure of eight route with more follies, monuments and gargoyles than you could shake a shitty stick at.

Three hours later and we repaired to a hostelry for a well earned flagon of frothing ale. Note to self: I must do this more often.