Springs eternal

Here is one of the nice things that happened over the summer holidays.

Betty, the husband person, and their eternally wonderful friend, best man, and tour guide (we shall call him Fosdycke, for privacy reasons) went on a walk near a tiny town in the wops, to a place called the Blue Spring.


There are cows on the way, of course…


All mod cons, in fact.


The most impressive is definitely the running water.



If you think you can’t see the trout swimming on the bottom, you’re just not looking hard enough. If you find it hard to count the pebbles, you must blame your education.


The spring itself is a pure blue colour and life-affirmingly cold year-round – a bracing eleven, Celsius – and Betty went only so far as ankles, while eating her lunch. Fosdycke swam into the spring, which he estimated to be about twenty metres deep, and with some encouragement the husband person also submerged himself. He was pushed, if you want to know the truth.



One could get used to living in a country like this.


A pastoral adventure

After Betty’s usual dance class on Saturday, she and the husband person went to Cornwall Park. It was all looking very springlike, and dotted with people enjoying the sunny, if crisp, atmosphere…


This chap was extremely friendly, even though he’d been on his feet all afternoon posing for photographs.



All in all, it was a lovely chance to walk on the grass and ease out of winter.