With an aching body from yesterday's brake and exhaust overhaul I was still pondering, this morning, why is it you never have 'that' tool to complete what is a relatively simple job? With the MOT still pending for Monday it is Shanks' Pony for me, not that Bertie minds. Clouds. That would sum up today's walk up and around Houghton on the Hill.
On return home, the cows were being moved from the field behind me to another just over the bridge which has the Wissey running through.
Not Pamplona bull run, sure, but exciting enough. The road being blocked by a cattle lorry, only a feisty calf tried to go for the gap I was filling. With some arm waving and 'whoooing' it was persuaded to follow the others into their autumn residence.
It seems the police were correct to allow a legal rave at Cockley Cley with only minor offences and one possibly unforeseen major casuality reported after the 18 hour dance festival. The noise pollution could be heard quick clearly in North Pickenham, an odd bass rumble backdrop to the usual serenity.
The seven mile road journey is under five as the crow flies, the stillness of a lovely early autumnal Saturday evening wafting the party poundings unfettered.
This weekend had enforced, yet pleasant, sightseeing tours on local buses with elevated views of Breckland from a double decker bus after a kindly boy in blue reminded me that my MOT was more than two weeks overdue. Advice taken and fine duly paid. What I was unaware of, however, was the apparent Zen like philosophical conundrums on board the ticket touting transport.