Mornings

Sartorial standards are slipping in the BtoB household. I blame my broken arm. Getting dressed with a cast is tricky so I've narrowed my options down to 3 baggy shirts and 3 drawstring trousers.  I kid myself that as long as I'm wearing linen, I'll look cool and elegant.  Not being able to use an iron, ensures that I look crumpled and creased. None of this matters on my early morning walks as Jake and I join the villagers in the forest.  Cold weather is approaching so the usually empty forest is dotted with my distant neighbours out gathering fire wood. Everyone living on the edge of woodland has the right to gather fallen and dead wood for their stoves. The forestry commission cleared a large tract of land  next to our house this year, getting rid of all the dead wood but leaving massive unearthed tree roots, so the mornings ring to the sound of axes pinging off the giant stumps.

I feel as if I've walked into a Gainsborough painting when these ladies emerge from the morning mist, carrying their stick stacks on their backs.  I like the idea that this occupation has been going on for centuries.

Any romantic notions I had though, were quashed when this lady, who laughingly agreed to have her photograph taken, had to break the pose to fish her ringing mobile phone out of her blouse.