No political ranting today.
This afternoon Mrs. Wolfers and I took a walk along the River Stour onto Hambrook Marshes, minus the wolf proper as it is too hot for her and she’s still recovering from a bilateral cruciate operation. Despite living in the centre of Canterbury these meadows are only a ten minute walk from my front door, through one of the city’s parks.
There’s a herd of wild horses, a Belgian breed, that live on this meadow, having been introduced by one of the local wildlife charities. They weren’t there today – a shame. They’re very friendly and enjoy having a scratch.
Settings like this, with a gentle breeze, some fluffy clouds scudding across the sky and the sound of the crickets in the long grass, along with what can almost be described as an infestation of the most striking electric blue damsel flies, served to remind me that with all that is wrong with this country, there are still some parts of it that are undeniably England.
Misty eyed nostalgia for a bygone age that probably never existed? Probably, but it is real shame that so few things are as perfect as this place.