Today, mum popped over to mine, for various reasons, one of which was for us to amble over to a local village to find a stockist of a soap she was interested in. The soap in question was made of goat’s milk and could be used as a shampoo. As one of many of us who are trying to go as plastic-free as possible, this was something we had both talked about perhaps trying – although, not necessarily one as a by-product from a goat. I remain to be convinced, purely because somehow, anything made from this animal tends to carry with it a strong residual scent of its maker.
It was a moot point in the end, anyway, as the shop was closed and so we decided we would have a quick look around the nearest village, Kersey. Considering it is pretty much, just around the corner from me (probably five minutes, as the crow flies, although 15-20 in the car once you have negotiated many bends on a one-track road) it seems rather silly that I haven’t been there before. As is so often the case, we don’t take time to be a ‘tourist’ in our own local area.
Kersey is a tiny hidden gem and stunningly beautiful – if you like old and rural and picturesque things – which I do. It probably helped, as it usually does, that the sun had finally made an appearance after a grey, windy and rather cold start.
Tucking mum’s tiny blue car (so small you wouldn’t believe the spaces it can be parked in) into the side of the road next to an old iron and wood pump, we thought we’d just investigate a small path leading upwards out of the village – just to see.
But it was a nice day and we were in an enchanting little village and found a footpath sign – so what were we to do, but to follow it.
People think that Suffolk is flat, but it is not. Suffolk is the land of hidden ups and downs and concealed dips, copses, woods and undulating fields. As we headed down a grassy decline we passed a man peddling upwards on his bike with his dog trotting along by his side on a lead. I was impressed; cycling uphill and on a rough footpath next to a field is no mean feat.
Levelling out and starting across a small bridge over a stream, I was startled by a slow worm who in turn had been surprised by our footsteps. Speedily heading off under a bush, I was annoyed I had not got my camera switched on. Mum was more annoyed as, being in-front of me, she hadn’t seen our strange reptilian friend.
We passed cows and their calves, we got stung by nettles and picked up crow’s feathers. We stood on a steel girder over a stream and came across the remnants of an old barn. It was a lovely unexpected walk and two hours later we returned to the village, crossing the ford and arrived back at the little blue car.
Once home (later than either of us expected considering we had only gone out for a bar of soap), it was time for me to start cooking tea: roast beef. Perhaps an unusual choice for a Thursday evening, but these days, MOTH and I live a topsy-turvy schedule compared to most. With both of us working weekends, one of us days and the other nights, we try to fit in our days off, sometime during the week. It is a strange thing, that after 14 years having worked the 9-5 (or often the 8-6) office staple, I still can’t get out of the habit of considering Friday evening to Sunday being the end of the week. This means that when we have our ‘weekend’ during the week, it somehow feels like ‘bunking-off.’
We were, of course, and as ever, plagued by the plight of small and shouty cat as we ate. Anyone would think that we never fed him and his brother, the way he carries on sometimes. Big cat, I feel has it sussed by continuing to sleep and letting his brother do all the bothering and then reap the rewards as they both, inevitably, get a little tit-bit. (The origin of this phrase I once had to look up. Having heard both ‘tit-bit’ and ‘tid-bit’ spoken I always wondered which it was. So similar to say, it is easy to fudge and so never be quite sure which one has been used. It turns out that, and simply put, ‘tit-bit’ is English and ‘tid-bit’ is American, both of which refer to a small amount.
As I’ve been writing this, I’ve been listening to the, quite frankly, bonkers singing of the song thrush that, has-at-it, in the garden every evening. To me it sounds like one of those 1980’s keyring toys which had several buttons that produced a different sound effect each and makes me giggle. I feel very lucky to live in a county with so many wonderful natural things to see.
I shall leave you with a cow that mum and I saw on our walk, which we are pretty convinced has a perm…
