Sunday, February 12, 2006
We've just been to Rye. This morning we took a walk on the marshes. The weather was terrible - my right ear went numb from the wind and rain. I was being punished for my city ways, the lashes penance: it was a purge, and a gentle reminder of nature's awesome power.
"I feel my culture slashed by shredding rain,
And in that icy squall I'm born again."
I started making a shopping list, of things I once had but had long since shed - gaiters, boots, waterproofs. I felt with fresh force the need to extend my experience beyond the delineations of hipster pursuits and broadsheet culture pages.
Basically, if you're looking for company on a walk, or someone to visit a church or nature reserve with, I'm in.
Yet I worry where this might lead. What if become some Ted Hughes/Melvyn Bragg type? What if I end up living in Cumbria or somewhere? Am I to go on walks with a staff, the wind blowing through whatever hair I have, spouting poetry, only stopping to point out the tracks of a stoat, or to declaim on dialect words or crag and tail?
I'm being dishonest with you and with myself: I would welcome such a future.
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"I feel my culture slashed by shredding rain,
And in that icy squall I'm born again."
I started making a shopping list, of things I once had but had long since shed - gaiters, boots, waterproofs. I felt with fresh force the need to extend my experience beyond the delineations of hipster pursuits and broadsheet culture pages.
Basically, if you're looking for company on a walk, or someone to visit a church or nature reserve with, I'm in.
Yet I worry where this might lead. What if become some Ted Hughes/Melvyn Bragg type? What if I end up living in Cumbria or somewhere? Am I to go on walks with a staff, the wind blowing through whatever hair I have, spouting poetry, only stopping to point out the tracks of a stoat, or to declaim on dialect words or crag and tail?
I'm being dishonest with you and with myself: I would welcome such a future.
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