I enjoyed a few days in Suffolk. The sun shone and Dog insisted on a walk.
We looked at the map; he agreed we should go to Halesworth and follow the Blyth river pretty much all the way.
Which we did. It’s a lovely four miles.
There are well managed farms, with meadow grasses and cattle; there are straw bales and reed beds.
There are nettles. Geez are there nettles.
At one point I thought I was going mad.
I heard voices. Anxious voices.
But I couldn’t see anyone. The fields to my left were empty.
Those across the river to my right equally unmanned and yet somewhere close by two men were debating something with a degree of animation.
Eventually I spotted them; they were kayakers, battling the enormous reeds in a vain attempt to row up the river to Halesworth.
There were butterflies and moths a’plenty.
There were cows, which, frankly Dog and I could have enjoyed more with the odd fence or two between us.
But there was no reason to complain and, in all honesty, there can be few better places for a morning stroll than England in the summer.
The weather is fine and nit life threatening.
Few things bite you and those that do don’t kill you.
Access to the countryside is of right and the landowners aren’t likely to kill you. And the distances to the next coffee and cake is always reasonable.
Maybe that’s why the English can be such smug knowalls…