It’s the season of the suicidal pheasant here just now. We have masses of them in the fields and hedgerows, and they are really not at all good at their green cross code. Luckily they’re quite large colourful birds (with very small heads, which presumably is part of the problem), and Handsome managed not to squash any more than had already been squashed by other people this morning. He did well to avoid the one that dive-bombed in from a raised verge, and the two that were crossing the road in opposite directions as we came round a corner!
It’s also the October week holiday, so we have Mouse at home (he has a ‘reading’ week, isn’t that ridiculous?) but we appear to be living in different dimensions. He goes to bed just before I get up, and when we arrive home after a day out he’s still in the shower because he’s only just surfaced. He’s writing an essay on Oedipus Rex, reading John Stuart Mills and occasionally strumming his guitar. I think it’s all quite normal.
So rather than attempt to become nocturnal in sympathy, Handsome and I went to North Berwick for the day – we had to pick up some repaired camping kit in Musselburgh en route, but that was a small detour and had the advantage of putting us on the coastal road instead of the A1. We had a wander round, watched the waves breaking over the pier, admired the Bass Rock and then drove home, just in time for Mouse to emerge from his room for a chat.
It’s nice to have him home.