Having dropped Son the Elder off in Berkeley at six in the morning for some extra work, and with three hours to spare before I had to take my father to an appointment back in Bristol, I decided to go for a walk along Berkeley Pill from the village to the River Severn and back - an excursion of around three and a half miles.
They reminded me of a ditty I wrote about Ted that day, while I was walking along. It's at the end of this post.
There were plenty of birds about - I saw a family of goldfinches taking off from a thorn tree, a skylark on a post, and a heron in flight, all trailing legs and looking just like that lanky nine year old girl at primary school who not only won every running race going but also turned out to be effortlessly good at high jump the very first time we were made to try it.
The sheep weren't that impressed by Ted.
On the return leg, as the narrow path wound along the very edge of the pill, I mistook the grass, brambles and stingers to one side for solid ground and found myself falling into a hole that must have been almost four feet deep. It took me two attempts to climb back out, clinging onto handfuls of tussocks, while Ted grunted at me in consternation.
Nothing broken, thankfully, but I was badly stung by nettles, covered in scratches, and my big toe, already plagued with arthritis, was quite badly strained. All smugness gone, I limped and squelched back to the car while Ted slid me withering collie glances. 
