Cats and Kings

Unlike Bear Grylls, I wasn't prepared for my adventure. It was a lovely calm morning, and so I decided to repeat yesterday's feat minus the gales and go for a cycle ride. I headed off down Bannocks Lane, barely having to peddle for the first half mile, then up the hill and down again steeply into the Alde Valley. The lane was very wet and muddy, strewn with debris, and I could hear the streams and ditches running and gurgling with fast water. At the bottom I stopped at Garden Cottage where last year I met the owner and we watched the river hurtle within a few feet of her back door. It was in spate again this morning but not so flooded, and as I stood there her husband Robert came out and introduced himself. We chatted about the river and the height of the water, and then I set off again along the long Low Road that, oddly enough, houses the B&B where once I was so ill. It wasn't easy cycling, what with the small potholes and fissures in the road surface, but much worse was the very low sun flickering through the bare trees and hedges and messing with my sense of perspective. A baseball cap with long peak would have been ideal. I ploughed on though, enjoying being outside and on the move, until I came to a long flooded section of the lane. Water filled the fields on either side, the trees rising spectrally out of this huge lake. What to do? I'm not a 'turning back' sort of person, so on I went on, trying to go steadily but not so fast that if I hit a hole I wouldn't be able to stay upright. The water got deeper and deeper, and I could see it stretching far ahead of me, but I was in it now and had no choice but to keep going. My feet were wet, half of my bicycle tyres were under water, and I felt mild panic rise in me. I was not in danger, though if I'd come off and hit my bare head I could easily have drowned. But that was me being fanciful again, and I laughed at such projected drama. It was scary, though, and a few times I thought the bike would stall as I pushed through mud and vegetation and stones. But at last I was out, and I stopped and looked back at my progress with admiration. But where was I only outside Sandpit Farm, home of the sickness phobe. It is a beautiful property, perhaps the nicest house and grounds I know. I regret that I was too ill to explore it when I stayed there, and now it's too late. But the summer screen is bare now, and I could clearly see what I had missed. A cat can look at a king.

Beautiful, just beautiful

The lane beside Sandpit Farm, dry here

I love this bed of pinks and blues