HollyDog, Grand-Daughter and I went for an explore this afternoon. We decided we'd follow a lane and see where it went: it didn't go anywhere. Probably my own fault for choosing the way, at the crossroads, that wasn't marked as leading to anywhere.
In fact it did lead somewhere: to Flock Mill and Old Heazle's Farm, which in turn led to a quick rendition of Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me your grey mare, all along down along out along lea .... And Uncle Tom Cobley and all.
We didn't mind not getting anywhere as it was a beautiful sunny afternoon to wander the peaceful Devonshire country lanes. We saw little lambs, a fat pheasant strutting across a field and a hare.
'How do you know it's a hare?' HollyDog asked.
'Because it looks like one.'
'What's the difference between a hare and a rabbit?'
'I have no idea.'
HollyDog looked at me rather skeptically. 'That then puts your identification of the hoppity thing into doubt I believe.'
I shook my head, 'It's March!'
(I had to explain about March hares and I don't think she was convinced but as neither she nor GrandDaughter, who was asleep, saw it, I think I can say without fear of contradiction that it was a hare. So there.)
I'm writing this in Daughter's office. Their garden backs onto a churchyard and tonight is bell-ringing practice. I do love church bells.
And now I'm going downstairs to have a cup of tea and a cookie - yes, in spite of saying, 'If I never see another cookie again it will be too soon,' I made some for Daughter this afternoon.