Didn't really go out walking very much, as the whole of what I suppose you'd call the Aire valley was suffused in a grey cloud so thick you'd expect seaweed clad leprous sailors to emerge from it and stick meathooks in you. First up we perched in the car, eating downhill at a sharp angle, enjoying the sight of happy dogs with wet tummies dragging their slightly less enthusiastic owners about on the boggy ground.
It was rather like eating a Waitrose cooked chicken in a crashing aeroplane.
Then we moved across to nearer the excellent-fish-and-chip-serving Cow and Calf pub, and sat in the car park of the little stone cafe. We forgot the milk, so we had to pay for a paper cup full of it from the cafe, and we watched the jackdaws bright eyed looking around for any scraps.
I thought my stepfather throwing them a crushed belgian chocolate biscuit thing was a bit uncouth, but no, they cackled and stuffed their beaks as full of chunks of biccie as they could, no doubt cackling at their own cleverness.
I couldn't hear them over the wind.
And then, a pretty little Meadow Pipit came over for a look too. I was wondering if we'd see any with their beloved bracken in abeyance, but there he was, striped and striated, tail fringed with white, olive green hints on his brown back. Compared to the delicate beak, the bits of biscuit looked far too big, but it daintily shook them into manageable, all but microscopic particles.
And it paid no heed to the rain pelting the rocks the cooing woodpigeon huddled among
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