muddy toes

At 11am this morning as I donned my bodywarmer and loaded myself up with my camera bag, I danced around my kitchen with delight singing a little ditty. I was off on a day trip!

I want to go on far more adventures and do more fun things, and so when my good friend Lizzie, who I haven't seen for far too long, suggested a trip to Westonbirt Arboretum, I jumped at the idea. The only other time I've been to this wonderful place was in my first year of university in Autumn, and I was blown away by the phenomenal colour of the leaves - I never knew they could be so red. I wish I could show you some photos, but they're all in print form and I don't have a scanner.
So, while it was a lovely day, I was a little bit spoiled by just how good my last experience was. There were a few signs of new life in the snowdrops and a couple of other plants, but otherwise, the naked trees were a slightly sad sight. I was glad I had had the foresight to bring my wellies, as there was a good amount of mud to squelch through.

Feeling thoroughly refreshed, rosy-cheeked and pink-nosed, we headed to the little village of Chipping Sodbury and went for afternoon tea at Poppy's tea rooms. The decor, menus and crockery were an interesting mix of beautiful photography slightly marred by the not-so-classy mounts, and the type of artwork you get on typical old English placemats - slightly dull in colour and a little bit drab. We were thoroughly entertained by our shared company in the tea room - a beautiful little boy of about 18 months with big curly locks of brown hair decided he wanted to sit with us, and after a few feeble attempts at trying to climb up onto the bench which was just too high for him, he confidently walked towards me and held out his arms for me to pick him up. So he joined us for a bit - it turned out he was only interested in my scone though, and when he realised he wasn't getting any, lost interest. Then there were the two girwols - girls trying to be women. (I made that word up - can you tell?!!) Lizzie and I had to look away to hide our amusement at their conversation about buying a car, getting their hair and nails done, and lots of other grown up things which they were clearly not old enough or financially equipped to partake in. They must have been all of 13 tender years old.

It felt good to get out of Bristol (as much as I absolutely love it) and enjoy the fresh country air. Sometimes I get fed up of breathing in fumes. I'm not really sure how to end this post. I don't feel I've done a very good job of writing it well. I'm finding that a lot lately. Not that I have ever considered myself a good writer, but the words just don't feel like they're flowing as I would like them to.