A grey day

This week it’s been widely reported that a shed is the answer to a longer life. Given the shed-men of my acquaintance, their little wooden structures are just as likely to be used for clandestine drinking activities as mucking about in the John Innes. Still, whatever works for you – Mrs G. has been cooking up a storm and I need the exercise. My life here to date has been a lot like living in London and never visiting the galleries or theatre: I’m billeted on Dartmoor and have been out on the moor just a couple of times. I forced myself to take time out this morning to brave a chill wind and drizzle and to head off up the hill. As you would expect it’s a desolate landscape this time of year, though I did bump into a handful of brave souls all well wrapped up. I was test-driving my new fleece-lined shirt acquired from the local farmers’ outfitters, and am pleased to say it passed with flying colours. I have a feeling I am going to need a fair number of them to get me through this coming winter. I’ve all but given up trying to draft-proof the house as there are too many chimneys and ground floor openings. I suppose the through breeze at least has the advantage of dissipating the smoke and alleviating any condensation problem.