I'm in Devon at the moment helping Daughter. Primarily that means walking HollyDog.
We usually walk in the grounds of Killerton Estate, a National Trust property. It's excellent for dog-walking as it's a mix of open spaces and woods. I've got to know it well over the last few months but it's a good job Holly knows her way back to the car as every time I think I know where a path is leading, we end up somewhere else.
It's very much gentry country and most of the dog-walkers are green-welly-wearing spaniel owners. They're awfully nice and pass the time of day, commenting on the weather, giving me the opportunity to put on my telephone voice and say, 'Oh, yes, it's terribly muddy here.'
Unfortunately when faced with having to make conversation with anyone other than Holly or myself, I get flustered and turn into a yokel. 'Urm yeurh.'
Mud-caked trousers and fell-out-of-bed hair probably don't help either.