I haven't had a run out on the bicycle for a fair old while, and I didn't want to waste a lovely day JUST gardening, although I sheared down the dead cow parsley at the back of the driveway and took out some of the more lethal looking clusters of nettles.
I needed a bit more freedom and fresh air than that, so off I went on my bicycle to see the strange storehouse at Sibthorpe, the round building like a Mycenean Tholos tomb above ground. It sits next to the small, shallow River Smite, whose banks were well populated with glittering banded demoiselles.
Various butterflies flitted about; large whites, small torts, the odd comma. No-one was stopping to chat.
I carried on the road round to Elston, to the windmill house, and saw a beautifully floral wall in Thorpe. All the time realising that I'd forgotten to bring a drink and that my mouth made a desert seem wet.
Fool. But a nice 30km anyway.
All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 03.07.18