As I ran along Clay Lane and through Beacon Hill I looked at all the Butterflies flying about, and the birds trying to fly against the blustering wind, and even the plants and all the bacteria and micro organisms existing beyond my perception - not difficult - and wondering what they were all thinking.
The Meadow Browns in the long grasses and the Ringlets circling just off the path, I reckon they were thinking..."This great clodhopper isn't thinking about us today. He has a mind full of press scandal and closing newspapers, why do we bother, nature should go on strike today."
Actually they were wrong. I was thinking, engrossed even, in script and relationship troubles. But the butterflies had a point.