Day 167

Well that’s the last Bank Holiday Weekend for 2020 (not counting Christmas and Boxing Day) and I have to say, it feels like Summer is almost over.

Sunday night was so chilly that we got into bed at 8:30pm to watch a film, covered with a duvet and blanket (I know I am such a drama queen).  Sadly, we couldn’t connect to Sky due to some kind of Wifi error (apparently it could be our thick walls. Really? In this day and age and with all the modern technology?!) so instead of cuddling up to watch a good movie, Darren fell asleep by 9pm and I played Solitaire on my tablet.  Romantic eh?

We had every intention of enjoying a date night over the weekend, but it didn’t really materialise in the traditional sense. We spent time together, but our plan to share dinner, movie and a big bowl of popcorn was scuppered for various reasons.  Mostly rusty van problems and chores around the house.

However, we did manage a little walk on Friday evening, as the sun was going down and the farm was still and quiet.  It was actually a beautiful evening and it felt good to get some fresh air after being stuck indoors all day:

Of course, I can’t seem to roam the surrounding area without causing some kind of scene/injuring myself/involving myself in general animal antics/being a tad thick.  And Friday was no different.

We walked through the field, climbing the stile and moaning about the new metal gate which had recently been erected by the Council.  I begrudgingly unravelled the plastic rope which was knotted around a pole to keep it shut, and Darren followed me through, tying it back up afterwards.  We ambled to the bridge and tried to spot some fish, upon hearing a few plops and rustles by the river’s edge.  I was easily distracted by some plump blackberries, popping one in my mouth and hoping there were no bugs residing in it.

The sun was sinking into the horizon and we made our way home at a leisurely pace.  Well, leisurely until we got to the sheep field….when we became slightly unnerved by the way they stared at us, unmoving and cold:

Distracted yet again by a fruit–bearing tree, Darren had to bustle me forward over the narrow bridge and usher me back towards the metal gate.  I fiddled with the stupid string around the pole and was chatting away to Darren for a good minute or so before I realised he had disappeared.  The next thing I knew, he was stood on the other side of the gate laughing.

Spot the deliberate mistake:

What a couple of bloody morons.

*****

When I woke up on Saturday, I counted the number of hours I had slept (why do I always do that?!) and feeling satisfied with the amount of rest I had received, I got up and dressed. Payday had finally arrived, so I treated myself to a mooch around the shops and (finally) spent my Next voucher on a new top.  This motivated me to go home and sort through my clothes and get rid of anything I had not worn so far this year.

A nice bit of cleansing.

Date night was foiled again, with no decent films on TV and one snoring boyfriend on the sofa.

*****

Sunday was super warm and practically another Saturday, because it was a bank holiday weekend HURRAH! I decided to bake some readymade croissants, because it just felt like a pastry kind of morning.

What a disaster.

Darren had to stab the container and rip it open for me (rather violently, I might add) because the instructions were pure lies:

And the end result?  I will let you come to your own conclusion….

Later that day, my friend and I went on a lovely walk to the pub (obvs) for a roast and I gave her a guided tour through the trailway and shared my obsession with foraging.  The sun was shining and we took in the scenery and gathered as much Nature’s candy that we could fit in our empty Chinese containers: blackberries galore, sloes, elderberries, apple trees, pears and plums.  We scoffed down our dinner, a pint of cider or two and Darren joined us for the walk home.

He was soon renamed Ray Mears, for all his countryside knowledge and know-how, teaching us about ripened nuts and at one point, climbing a rickety plum tree.  I had visions of him as child, roaming Cornwall with his little legs poking out of his seventies-style shorts, chewing on wild berries and covered in mud.  This quickly changed to a vision of him falling out of the tree, or hobbling on crutches with a dicey hip, and I talked him down from the branches.

We slept well, knackered from all the walking, and awoke the next day feeling refreshed.  We cycled to the next village to pick up some duck eggs and drop off our spare egg boxes – everywhere was so quiet and we didn’t pass another soul on our way – but there must have been some local action, as unfortunately when we got there, the egg shelf was bare!  We carried on cycling and decided to take a longer route home, enjoying the exercise.

Arriving back at the farm, both energised and worn out, I exclaimed “I enjoyed that!”  and then between mouthfuls of water: “how long were we gone?”

Darren looked at his phone, puzzled, then looked again. “Oh” he said sadly, “it was only about half an hour.”

We were both a little disappointed, thinking we had been out at least an hour and burned hundreds of calories.  Bugger.

The rest of the day was spent apart, Darren trying to fix the rust on our van and me being a domestic goddess – a modern day pioneer woman if you will – baking an apple tart, a banana and chocolate chip loaf, and then making (runny) plum jam and generally feeling bloody chuffed with my Nigella-esque skills.

After snaffling cake mixture and sampling all the goodies, this time it was my turn to fall asleep on the sofa, before even a sniff of a date night.

#BankHolidays