The flaming wreckage is over the hill behind the ponies…
My friend Val says I look like an Air Hostess in this photograph. I was visiting her in England recently – it was the first time in my adult life I had seen England without the benefit of booze. I was sober as Stonehenge, people. She took me to Dartmoor for a brisk walk and a pub lunch.
Why did I dress like this to stomp over mountains of icy heather and dried pony poop? I look so official and quaffed with my navy-blue blazer and jack boots… Like I’m available to answer questions, or gather tourists together to expound on points of local interest.
But, I also look dejected. Like I’m the only survivor of the plane crash (burning out of sight) and I just don’t have the energy to BE STRONG and DEAL with it all. As if I’d rather just stand there – having a stare-down with a feral, Dartmoor pony…
That’s kind of how I feel.
My ex-husband quit smoking, cold turkey, many years ago. He said that after he did, he was disinterested in drinking beer, or going to restaurants or parties, because without a cigarette, nothing felt right. It felt like something was missing. Val and I went on to a charming, country pub after our walk. One of those low ceilinged affairs with a wood burning fireplace and horse irons hanging on the walls: the perfect setting to while away the hours with a Plowman’s Lunch and a glass of red wine.
But, without the familiar glass(s) of wine, it felt like the pub lacked something. Although I love Val’s company, and I was in ENGLAND for Christ’s sake, it was just food. In a charming setting. On a cold day.
Why did I dress like this to stomp over mountains of icy heather and dried pony poop? I look so official and quaffed with my navy-blue blazer and jack boots… Like I’m available to answer questions, or gather tourists together to expound on points of local interest.
But, I also look dejected. Like I’m the only survivor of the plane crash (burning out of sight) and I just don’t have the energy to BE STRONG and DEAL with it all. As if I’d rather just stand there – having a stare-down with a feral, Dartmoor pony…
That’s kind of how I feel.
My ex-husband quit smoking, cold turkey, many years ago. He said that after he did, he was disinterested in drinking beer, or going to restaurants or parties, because without a cigarette, nothing felt right. It felt like something was missing. Val and I went on to a charming, country pub after our walk. One of those low ceilinged affairs with a wood burning fireplace and horse irons hanging on the walls: the perfect setting to while away the hours with a Plowman’s Lunch and a glass of red wine.
But, without the familiar glass(s) of wine, it felt like the pub lacked something. Although I love Val’s company, and I was in ENGLAND for Christ’s sake, it was just food. In a charming setting. On a cold day.
