Pea Soup

It was a real pea souper driving to the Mantle Estate this morning.  To be honest it was a little bit cliched.  I mean we all know Exmoor is a moor and “atmospheric” goes with the territory and all that dramatic Lorna Doone stuff is a given, but really, a little obvious don’t you think?  I have an excellent idea, why don’t we try, just for a change, “sunshine”.  Have a think about it, it could work.

As I dropped down into the valley, dodging escapee ewes and lambs, watching hazy cows dash across the rough fields towards their recently delivered breakfast, past piles of mangle wurzels and wild garlic, the mist cleared.   Although by no means a sunny day, it was dry and eventually coats were removed.

A very productive morning followed, spent undertaking the spring triumvirate of “weed, feed and mulch”.  Moods were buoyant, with only one injury when Lord Mantle was slashed on the forehead by a rose thorn.  Lady M told him he looked ” ‘ard” which I think he considered worth the disfigurement.

“Lady Mantle” I said “Are you standing on the emerging gladioli that I just excitedly pointed out to you?”.  She lifted her size 13 diamante encrusted hobnails and peered at the spear-like shoot which fortunately flicked back into position.  “I was checking it was bouncy enough” she replied.

You can’t argue with that.  Well not and keep your job at the same time.