Wednesday, April 09, 2008

Dampened enthusiasm

The golightlies are gone now so I can get out of this ditch. I'm stiff and I ache, my suit is damp-stuck to me, and my shirt smells.

Off up the road, which is deep in gloom because of the high side hedges each side beyond each ditch left and right of me as I walk up the middle of the grit.

There's birds in the tree set back, and they are making a racket, which is called a dawn chorus, as the sun is just up (can't see it here in the narrow shadow).

I need to get away and so I consider climbing the hedge so I can get over the fields, but that means crossing the fucking ditch and brambles. I do not like brambles, and there's nettles there too. Something about being wet and scratched is unappealing right now: oh, that's it, that's what's unappealing; the wetness and the scratches, and the stings.

Maybe my suit will start steaming around midday, that'll be attractive. The idea of wading up to my neck into a clear river seems good (and washing out the dirt and stink), except I remember that rivers on the margin are usually deep in stinking mud.

I slow down a bit and wish for a warm bed, clean pyjamas and a cup of tea.

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