Saturday morning arrived, along with some long-awaited sunshine – seemingly the first decent day in a while. Time wasn’t on our side, but we fancied a bit of a walk to get the legs going and enjoy a bit of fresh air.
It had been noted that, a la Old Mother Hubbard, the cupboard was a bit bare, and I go weak at the knees if I don’t know where my next meal is coming from. So we decided to go and buy some eggs from a farm a couple of villages away, fresh Scrambled Egg on Toast being a favourite.
Despite the sunshine it was a surprisingly chilly morning, and a thin scrim of ice covered the occasional puddle. It was still quite early for a weekend morning, so the lanes were mostly quiet and we made good progress. The views were nice, if not spectacular, but the event of the walk came when a Stoat, complete with black-tipped tail, shot across the road in front of us.
We picked up our plunder, put a pound in the honesty box, and returned by the same route. The GPS confirmed a round trip of some two and a half hours, totalling 8 miles – eggsactly!
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