Monday, May 09, 2011
I can't say the word 'moors' without thinking of Wuthering Heights. Not that I read it, mind you. That was the year I got kicked out of high school, and so I missed a bit more than British Literature, truth be told. But 'moors' just sounds like Wuthering Heights. Or like Othello. Either way, it's Brit Lit.
Anyway, I went walking yesterday on the moors. Must have walked five miles or so by the time it was all through. But it was beautiful, and the wind was whipping, the skies were crisp and blue, and all was right with the world up there. OK, most everything was right. There was the unfortunate discovery Tabitha made of a pair of young child's underwear....there are no JiffyJohns on moors. And there was the mental hospital we stumbled upon. OK, it wasn't really, but it seemed like a plausible story. Learned later that it was an old TB sanitarium. And there was the bus stop that had the courtesy to display a nicely printed sign that read "This is no longer a stop." Guess it would have been too much trouble to just remove the stop....gotta give people hope that they've reached the stop, and then crush it. But the swifts and Queen Anne's lace and crumbling stone walls and heath and open vistas... they were lovely. We stopped in at the Three Merry Lads pub (which my Facebook friends have made naughty jokes about). Tabitha ate her third major dessert in 24 hours (but no judgment, really), and I had a latte with Kahlua. Just the thing to warm me up so I could make it to the real bus stop.