The countryside is a violent place.

Sunday ...Ruth and I went on a cycle to Alford and every few meters encountered a casualty. There were few beautiful pheasants glorious in their color, a few meters along a stripy cat and as our journey progressed the ever increasing litany grew. Rabbits, a weasel thing, more birds, this sheer volume of death is not something one sees on the grey and safer streets of London. Sometimes you might happen upon a squashed pigeon or even a moggie but nothing compares to the sheer volume of death per square inch here.


The cycle was enjoyable even if a tad long due to Ruth’s navigational skills failing and adding and extra 18 miles on to a proposed 14-mile journey.  We arrived home soaking shaking with physical exhaustion happy to be alive and not part of the road kill cacophony outside. To relax after this episode all the residents watched the Wicker Man which turned out to be one of the best films I have seen for a long time, but also one of the most terrifying. Especially watching it in rural Scotland, lucky we are not on an island or else I would not have slept a wink.  All in All it was an inspiring day off.

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