It’s been one of those special days up here in the north of England. A real beauty. The sun has been gentle beneath the breeze all day and I have walked Lucy the silly mutt three times in total, probably for about two and a half hours all being said.
I can’t think of a better way I could have spent the day.
On my way round the barren that is basically my back yard I noticed that the blackberries are almost all in season, thousands of them. An idea came to me.
The area has a weird, majestic quality that comes from wild, open growth and a kind of broken down aura of solitude and neglect. Black spots where teens have lit fires dot the area; as does the local railway line and piles of stones and bricks which are randomly set out with almost a hidden purpose. This is where I wanted to spend my birthday with my family.
So when the children, three of them, all girls, came in from school I rushed them to get changed and took them and me, Marie and the dog picking the blackberries that are flourishing. It’s one of the most sensual and relaxing experiences you can have I think, that includes getting lots of scratches. Just you and those closet to you and the strange cross between man and nature that characterises where we walked. I would take the rough and ragged nature of here over the clean cut appearance of farmland.
We got lots and lots of berries during the hour and a half we were out walking and I have decided that I want a home cooked pie for my birthday. I’ll tell you how it was tomorrow.