Maybe it's the weather
After all, it's what we British talk about all the time. But something is dampening my mood of late, and this excessive wetness could well be to blame.
It could also be something to do with the loss of Chiswick. I still catch myself at random moments wondering where he is. I find I miss his annoying little ways (though not, funnily enough, the endless mopping and scraping of the kitchen floor). He used to sit on my lap, under my jumper whilst I was typing, and I miss that too. There's a larger than life size photo of him as a young dog at the top of the stairs. He had two eyes when it was taken, and they stare at me every time I pass, accusing me of not looking after him properly. I'm sure I'll get over it eventually.
Of course, it could be the constant travelling that's left me rootless. Up to Fife, on to Aberdeen, down to Harrogate, back to Aberdeen, up to Sutherland, back to Fife, down to Wales, up to Fife again. Finally back down to Wales on Monday and what a trip that was.
I was tired, mostly because my old bed at the Farm is incredibly uncomfortable. There's a horrible part of driving on motorways when you can feel the will to stay awake slipping away from you. Sensible people stop, have a kip or a coffee. Walk around a bit. Swap drivers. Less sensible people shake their heads from side to side, shuffle about in their seats, crack their lower jaw and roll their shoulders. None of which things really help. Me, I stuff my face with chocolate - and cheap, sugar-laden stuff at that. Mars Bars, Toffee Crisps, Twixes. In they go, chomp chomp chomp. The rush keeps me awake, but the come-down isn't pleasant.
Anyway, we'd made it down the M6/M56 nightmare and were barrelling through rural Wales, not much more than an hour from home, when the car in front stood on its brakes and swerved. I was grateful for the adrenaline rush this brought me - enough to get me to the end of the journey, but as I drove past the point where the incident had begun, I saw a very strange sight.
Lying in the middle of the road was a sheep's severed head. It had a rather startled expression on its face, which I suppose is fair enough. Mind you, sheep look pretty much startled all the time.
It was one of those quick as a flash moments. Blink and it's gone. But I'm fairly certain I didn't hallucinate the whole thing. What I'm not sure of is whether the animal was wandering on the road and got hit in spectacular fashion by an HGV, or whether it was part of a consignment of bits being taken from a slaughterhouse for disposal and which had fallen off the back of the lorry, so to speak. I didn't see any other bits of sheep, which would lend credence to the latter theory. But we were at the time under an animal movements lock down due to Foot and Mouth, so nothing should have been in transit anyway.
I guess it will just have to remain one of life's mysteries.
It could also be something to do with the loss of Chiswick. I still catch myself at random moments wondering where he is. I find I miss his annoying little ways (though not, funnily enough, the endless mopping and scraping of the kitchen floor). He used to sit on my lap, under my jumper whilst I was typing, and I miss that too. There's a larger than life size photo of him as a young dog at the top of the stairs. He had two eyes when it was taken, and they stare at me every time I pass, accusing me of not looking after him properly. I'm sure I'll get over it eventually.
Of course, it could be the constant travelling that's left me rootless. Up to Fife, on to Aberdeen, down to Harrogate, back to Aberdeen, up to Sutherland, back to Fife, down to Wales, up to Fife again. Finally back down to Wales on Monday and what a trip that was.
I was tired, mostly because my old bed at the Farm is incredibly uncomfortable. There's a horrible part of driving on motorways when you can feel the will to stay awake slipping away from you. Sensible people stop, have a kip or a coffee. Walk around a bit. Swap drivers. Less sensible people shake their heads from side to side, shuffle about in their seats, crack their lower jaw and roll their shoulders. None of which things really help. Me, I stuff my face with chocolate - and cheap, sugar-laden stuff at that. Mars Bars, Toffee Crisps, Twixes. In they go, chomp chomp chomp. The rush keeps me awake, but the come-down isn't pleasant.
Anyway, we'd made it down the M6/M56 nightmare and were barrelling through rural Wales, not much more than an hour from home, when the car in front stood on its brakes and swerved. I was grateful for the adrenaline rush this brought me - enough to get me to the end of the journey, but as I drove past the point where the incident had begun, I saw a very strange sight.
Lying in the middle of the road was a sheep's severed head. It had a rather startled expression on its face, which I suppose is fair enough. Mind you, sheep look pretty much startled all the time.
It was one of those quick as a flash moments. Blink and it's gone. But I'm fairly certain I didn't hallucinate the whole thing. What I'm not sure of is whether the animal was wandering on the road and got hit in spectacular fashion by an HGV, or whether it was part of a consignment of bits being taken from a slaughterhouse for disposal and which had fallen off the back of the lorry, so to speak. I didn't see any other bits of sheep, which would lend credence to the latter theory. But we were at the time under an animal movements lock down due to Foot and Mouth, so nothing should have been in transit anyway.
I guess it will just have to remain one of life's mysteries.
Comments