Walking, party, working-party.

There's no philosophy today, just a dull recounting of the facts.

It's been an average weekend. Moonface & I strolled down to the Miner's Arms for a drink on Friday night, knowing that we would find a seat, not suffer from too much smoke, and have some decent cider to drink. Moonface's cousin dropped in later, & we nattered about politics and kids and the usual small-talk. It's the minutiae of talking like that, which gives one a sense of place & belonging. Heimat, I think the Germans call it. Terroir?

On Saturday we had a ridge-walk on the Quantocks, about 50 miles from home. The views were spectacular, with the vale of Taunton and the Blackdowns to one side, and the Severn Estuary to the other. To the North, we could see right across to Barry & Cardiff in Wales, 20 miles away. The Severn was patchworked with the reflections of clouds and squalls, which we could see disapparing after they had soaked us on our hills. We walked for about 12 miles, there and back, and ended up tired by not exhausted.

It was just as well we weren't exhausted, as we went to a house-warming party in the evening, at which we talked, talked, drank & ate. Then we walked home by midnight.

On Sunday I cycled down to the lake, to lend my labour to a working party. I shovelled and barrrowed soil into sacks for a couple of hours, turned down the chance to swim, then returned home for a snooze. En route I dropped into a technically incompetent friend's house, and talked her through the use of her email system. The snooze was a better use of time.

Then, since it was raining all afternoon, I dossed around and listened to music, played with the internet, did little. Cheers, drive.