It was a very Biblical Easter in our little corner of England. Forty days and nights of rain sluiced the last of the snow through soil and silage, delivering it down from the hills in a great wave that set the motorhomes sailing in the caravan park like giant ducks in a tub of mud.
We were walking off the excesses of Easter Sunday, hot cross buns and turkey, enough chocolate to feed the five thousand and Simnel cake, God help us. A fruit affair lagged in marzipan, eleven balls of the stuff on top to represent the apostles. Judas excluded, as you might expect.
‘Coming for a walk?’ I said.
‘Don’t you mean a swim?’
Read on by following the link to Prick of the Spindle
Causes Sarah Hilary Supports
Cancer Research, British Red Cross, British Heart Foundation