It’s not all bad; as we always say, work makes out life at the house on the cliffs possible. Just standing in the doorway into the back garden, with sunlight shining through the boughs of the tree and butterflies flitting from plant to plant; and beyond the garden, the land falls and then rises towards the edge of the cliffs about a mile away. And the air is filled very little with the sounds of the modern world, but instead the chirping of many different species of birds.
It’s not a bad life, all things considered.
The days pass quickly at work, and then we squeeze into the evenings all the things we would like to do if we were not at work; and for the past two weeks and the rest of this week is sitting on the sofa with Scully on my lap watching recordings of that day’s Tour de France. We cook, we clean we do stuff. Monday, Jools went to her yoga class, and I messed around on the computer before starting to cook dinner. Only, I managed to pick up a virus somewhere, I could not open just one file, the mouse selected many, click on the net opened a new window.
I did manage to open an anti-spyware program, and in its 12 hour scan it found the virus and deleted it, and the next morning I downloaded an anti-virus program and set a scan going whilst we were at work. And all seems fine now. I guess it goes to show that you can never be too careful. This is the first virus any of my computers have picked up in over 10 years, so its not too bad.
Last night after work, and after feeding the cats and changing out of our work gear, we put on our walking shoes and headed out for a walk in the warm evening sunshine. Along the track which begins at the end of our street, across the fields and, for me at least, then down into the dip, up the other side and then on to the cliff edge and looking out to France over the deep blue English Channel. I say me for at least, as Jools had a leaving party to go to for a friend at work, and would not have time for the whole walk.
Once we reached the end of the track, where it joins a country lane, there is a huge area of buddleias, and so we paused for a while to try to photograph the butterflies flitting about. I got some good shots, but could do better, there will be other chances to snap them.
At hat point, Jools went home to get ready for the party, and I walked on. To the south, there was no clouds, and the sky a deep blue, but to the north and west, clouds were thickening, but this did nothing to stop the sun from shining. A few hundred yards along the lane, a sharp right turn, and down the small valley that the house looks down into, and back up the other side, past fields of wheat on both sides.
At the other side of the valley, a left turn along the lane, dodging the cyclist out also enjoying the evening sunshine, and then turn right, along the overgrown path that heads to the cliffs. The path continued to rise, with the landscape falling on all sides. And then at the top of the rise, I could see all the way to where the cliff edge was, and the deep blue Channel beyond, and in the distance, the buildings and towers in Calais just poked above the horizon.
Such clarity of the air is rare, but when it happens it does take your breath away; it does mine anyway. As I walk towards the cliff, the ground drops and the vista also drops out of view. Then the path rises again, crosses the clifftop path, and twenty yards further on to the edge. And there it is.
The view.
Ships look like toys, France seems like it’s only a handful of miles away. A gentle warm breeze stirs the evening air and as I stand there, a couple of dog-walkers pass by, not looking at the scene. Maybe they’ve already seen it, or see it every day? I don’t know.
Down below, my stomach rumbled, and I turn for home, heading back the same way, this time heading into the sun. A couple of fine looking horses come over to the fence at the edge of their field, I go up and they inspect my hand for food but let me scratch their foreheads.
Back up the steep climb to the end of the track, and then into the setting sun and back to our street, just in time to wave at Jools as she drove off to the party.
I let myself in, pat each one of the cats that laid in wait, went to the fridge, grabbed an ice cold bottle of beer, popped the Moroccan sausage pasta dish I had defrosted into the microwave, checked the computer to make sure it was still virus-free.
Once I had eaten, I picked Scully up and we sat down on the Sofa and watched the recorded live coverage of that day’s Le Tour. A pretty perfect day.
And to round it off, I watched Newsnight, to see how various scribes and other interested parties judged the Murdoch’s appearance before the select committee. Always good to see the great and good squirm and act contrite; even if deep down we know Rupert has his fingers crossed.
1 comment:
Not a bad way to wind through a day.
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