Saturday 8 April 2023
I have just waxed the kitchen table in honour of our guest, Duncan, who’s currently on his way from Inverness to stay with us. I have most definitely never waxed a table in someone’s honour. I have also emptied out the water in the bottom of the dishwasher (about a month of that issue now; the plumber has gone very quiet about coming over) and I’m poised to move the chairs around in the lounge area.
Yesterday, I did some work in the morning, hung out another wash in the sun which was dry by the time I brought it in, checked the wildlife cameras and got a lift with Chris on his way out so I could walk back about 9,000 steps (whoop, I did my 10,000 steps yesterday).
I learned some stuff on my walk. I have already ordered some of those litter picker grabby things (optimistically, two, hoping that Chris and friends who visit might want to join me in my roadside litter-cleaning crusade) but I was twitching to get rid some of the rubbish that people chuck out their car windows and leave behind after a picnic. I learned that there are a lot of shitbags out there, people who consciously throw or leave litter around in beautiful places (well, anywhere).
The reason I ordered the litter pickers is because every time I walk along the road, I see the same bits of litter, many of them faded from having been there for ages. There is a large crisp bag caught amongst grasses that have grown around it, down a bank near our drive. It is so faded, it looks vintage. I can’t reach it but the picker might help. Up the loggers’ tracks, there is always rubbish up there too, so I’m pretty sure the loggers throw it out their window. The main things I see are water and fizzy drink plastic bottles and cans, coffee cups (including a few Costa cups – the nearest Costa must be at least twenty miles away. Do people drink their coffee cold or do they save their rubbish until they’re out in the middle of nowhere?) and snack packets. So, yeah, kind of car/truck snacks.
Yesterday, I felt furious, more than usual. The week before, the beautiful, sunny Monday when I’d walked the same stretch of road, I had walked towards three large MPVs, squashed into a passing bay (which is there for a very good reason; it’s a narrow stretch of road and those passing bays are essential for two vehicles to pass without at least one getting stuck in boggy ground). Three large families had already got out of their cars and were getting more picnic stuff out of their cars. There were at least six adults and maybe six or more young children. It was a beautiful spot, albeit right by the road, for a picnic. As I walked past, a few of the adults looked in my direction (it’s kind of unexpected to see someone walking past). I may have written at the time that I appreciated the friendliness of people living in this area, particularly when they just stared at me and completely ignored me, not a smile, nothing. I know I could have said hello but it seemed an almost hostile encounter. I carried on, raging about their having taken up an entire passing bay.
Yesterday, I walked past that passing bay. To my disgust and fury, they had clearly left all their picnic rubbish. It was pretty much in the haphazard circle I had seen them beginning to form and sit in. There were paper plates, some with caked-on remains of food, and the kind of picnic remains that decent, normal, intelligent people take away with them. Not only was there all the picnic rubbish, there was a pile of car rubbish, including a dirty baby’s nappy. I hated them. I felt so angry. I don’t want to pick up their litter, but neither do I want to get angry every time I pass that area and see it. Horrid, selfish, thoughtless [multiple expletives].
As I walked along the vast expanse of quiet road, as I pretty much always do when walking on my own around here, I chatted to myself, I think at normal chatting-to-a-friend volume. Then two cyclists appeared, heading towards me. I hadn’t heard them cycling, but I’m fairly certain they’d have heard me chatting.
On another stretch of quiet road, near a house on the other side of the river with a spindly bridge Chris and I are fascinated by (in a Really? People drive over a bridge that flimsy? Kind of way), I could see in the distance that at the top of their drive was one of those two-wheeled hand truck trolleys, the kind many people use to move heavy things around. I, however, saw it at the top of the drive, next to a woman with a dog on a lead, being approached by another woman from along the drive, and convinced myself that they were Jehovah’s Witnesses, set up there to attempt to attract passing cyclists. I was convinced of this. As I approached, I could see that the trolley appeared to be newly packaged. I have no idea where each woman came from, there were no cars around, but after we’d all said hello as I passed, I noticed a white van stop by them. My theory is it was a delivery, although I’m still sure that the woman with the dog came on foot – but from where? Maybe she knew the person in the van and they dropped her off for a walk. And there it is, another thing I learned, the delights of speculation regarding other people’s business.
I also had reconfirmed to me that walking around here, in this kind of wildness, in the sun makes me feel very happy. It was also really warm, birds everywhere, I saw two butterflies that looked black and velvety and, when I got home and sat outdoors for lunch, I saw three swallows sitting on the wire above the garden. The first photograph I took by this house was just after we arrived for our first viewing of the house. I looked up, saw some swallows on that same wire and took a photo of them.
