"Mud, mud. Glorious mud." Words from a famous Flanders and Swan song & here it was.
Yep ... those are my wellie booted feet "gloriously" covered in fen farmers mud. After a night and morning of rain falling from pewter dark skies which lightened but didn't show any signs of what my Gran used to cal "Sailors patches." i.e area of blue. Eventually late afternoon we headed out to do a few necessary bits of shopping, (I wore wellies whilst shopping, looking more like a farmery type) I was prepared for the stop on the way back.
We parked up and headed off down a narrow track between an animal feed beet field and a very soaked stubble field. The mud as you can see from the above was clinging to my boots, which got heavier and heavier, the dog too was getting muddier and muddier.
We both washed off in one of the dykes which was full to the brim, so much so that it was actually overflowing onto the track that runs between the windbreak hedgerows and ...
yes ... guess what ... fully of splashy, soft, boggy, mud! We washed off as best we could.
As you can see the daft dog managed to better than I did, no way was I going swimming!
We headed back to warmth and dryness.
No comments:
Post a Comment