However, it could have all been so different.
I had parked Clint on Sunderland Street, Tickhill close to "The Scarborough Arms" pub before setting off on a seven mile country walk under another blue sky. No need for a jacket or sweater.
When I reached Stancil Farm, I noticed that the public footpath bisected a large cattle pasture. The herd of young Jerseys was down in the bottom corner close to The River Torne but when I was half way across the field they spotted me and headed in my direction.
Of course there was no aggression but they were investigating me with their muzzles and no matter how much "Yaah-ing" I did along with windmill waving of my arms, they would not retreat. They surrounded me as I headed, hopefully, towards the stile which led through a hawthorn hedge to safety. Perhaps they thought I was a farmhand bringing food supplements.
I was very aware that if I had tripped up and fallen to the ground they might well have accidentally trampled me in their panic.
Normally, when I walk through cow fields, the cattle will look up with lazy indifference before returning peacefully to their endless grass munching. That was not the case yesterday. I tell you, it was such a relief to reach that wooden stile and climb over into the next field.
"The Scarborough Arms" was open for outdoor drinkers so I treated myself to a pint of bitter shandy with a bag of plain crisps. This was the first time I have visited a pub since November 4th last year. It was an agreeable experience but then Clint started honking his horn so I knew it was time to head home.