Rowlee

The beloved granddaughter Phoebe Harriet is six months old today. What special  joy she has brought into our lives. She is the best baby ever and this week she began the process of weaning. She was very happy with broccoli but not so keen on avocado. Perhaps she had heard about  the carbon footprint of this increasingly popular fruit. I am looking forward to feeding her some mashed up swede on Sunday.

Weatherwise today was overcast at first but round about two o'clock the clouds parted to reveal our particular  star shining brightly  in an aquamarine firmament with occasional wisps of cotton wool scudding quietly by. I needed no further invitation. Soon Clint was in full harness and we galloped out to the hills.

I tethered him near Hagg Farm above the valley of The River Ashop and soon I was walking up, up to the sky. Well, not really the sky - just Rowlee Pasture - an area of open moorland above Rowlee Farm.

As I had set off so late in the day, I reduced the length of the walk in order to get home at a reasonable time to prepare our tea (evening meal). We ate it at the table on the lower decking - a simple meal of egg and bacon quiche, new potatoes, salad and coleslaw which was washed down with cans of ice cold "Bosh!" beer by "Brewdog".

I told Shirley that I had sat for a while on the moors with my back resting against a gatepost as I swigged some cold water from my flask. It had been so peaceful and so pleasantly warm  with just a few sheep and lambs bleating in the rough pastureland below me that I felt I could have  rested there till sundown. The summer's  beauty was bewitching.

And I thought of Hagg Farm - an outdoor education venue for many years. I helped with school visits there in the early eighties. It was a lovely place for urban teenagers to become more intimate with the great outdoors and spend memorable time away from home. How strange that my once sharp memories of those good old days are now faded  like ghost advertising on a gable end wall.