Not the return I'd planned

I hope this finds everyone well and coping with the strangeness of current life.

I’d lovingly prepared a couple of posts to restart this blog after some difficult months. I regret what follows isn’t one of them.

A regular evening stroll is something I enjoy. Whether it's listening to the birdsong, breathing in the countryside scents (currently hedgerow honeysuckle), and watching the sun set behind the hulk that is the Long Mynd plateau.

Here are some comments on my stroll of Wednesday 10th June 2020.


1. In a narrow county lane with little or no verge and with the ever-increasing size of vehicles, I often have to standstill and back myself into the hedge to accommodate passing vehicles. It helps my nerves and probably those of less confident drivers. Being unable to judge the width of their vehicles seems a common issue amongst drivers. The occasional prick of a thorn or nettle sting unwanted but accepted.

This evening I once again stop and give the rapidly approaching car all the room I can. Its driver is a young man who plainly sees no reason to slow down, happy to have just one hand on the wheel, that same hand also holding a drinks can. No acknowledgement of my efforts on his behalf. The ignorance of drivers increasingly common.

2. About ten minutes later on a straight section of the same lane, two fluorescent cyclists riding side by side are coming towards me. The social kind of cyclists, not the racing kind. I cross over to the other side of the lane and stand in a large gateway to allow them to remain side by side. The man and woman pass and I shout a friendly ‘Hi’. The silence is deafening, their hands remain firmly on their handlebars as they ride off into the distance. A sarcastic comment springs to mind but my upbringing prevents me. Cyclists ignorance a relatively new thing but becoming increasingly common.

3. My mood towards my fellow humans isn’t so good by the time I return to our drive entrance. Opposite the drive is a small unofficial parking area, generally used by a local farmer but occasionally by walkers, or others. I notice something white. I’d not noticed it snowing, so I go and have a look. Some artistic person had left a sculpture to adorn the countryside. (Not to the standard of Antony Gormley.) Obviously, grief-stricken not to have won anything with their lottery scratch cards, they’d ripped them up and left them heaped on the ground. And yes, I did pick them up. And yes, I washed my hands thoroughly afterwards – Coronavirus combined with moronic germs I could do without. The unenviable reputation of the UK for its litter is fully justified.


The ignorance of many, plainly obvious to see for all those with morals, a conscience, and respect for both their fellow humans and the countryside.

If only a pandemic could be selective? A dream, a wish – bliss!