It is pissing down, and damply unpleasant, today, the kind of grim, grey weather I loathe with a passion and which causes my mood to plummet like a cement-encased corpse.
So, having done a Tesco, with my canine companion lurking miserably in the Peppy Polo (my car, not a freakishly large packet of mint-flavoured crunchy holes!), I decided that a walk up parts of the Tor would do us both the world of good.
The dreary incontinence without almost persuaded me to remain in the dry but, clipping on Jumble’s lead, I approached the turn-stile type gate and, having briefly shut the dog on the other side, surveyed the scene before me.
My first comment was, ‘Oh shit!’
Truly, a double-edged curse, that one, because, before me and as far as the eye could see, was a flock, nay a flotilla, of ewes, lambs and, not to put too…
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