Evidence that Fran has ventured outdoors

I actually went into a field this weekend.

What, outdoors?  I hear you say.  Do you even venture onto the doormat outside your house without hyperventilating and needing to breathe into a paper bag? I hear you say.  Don't you feel panicky merely standing near an open window? I hear you say.

Well, here's the proof that I braved the elements.  I took this photo myself, honest.

These are tractor prints, not my footprints.
  I may be a size 7 but even my trainers don't make tracks like that.

And here's a picture of the whole field, although I did send this to my sister and she said, 'You could have taken that while leaning out of a cafe window.'  This kind of cynicism cuts one to the quick.

This looks as though I was leaning over when taking this.  I may well have been,
through tiredness.  We had walked for 30 whole minutes.

What got me into the field, then?

No, I was NOT lost.

It was because my friend, with whom I had gone away for a weekend of writing, eating scones, more writing, more scone-eating, and more writing, is the type who loves to be outdoors.  For her, the wind through her hair is a joy.  For me, it's a threat, messes with my mood, and makes me want to slap people.  Still, I conquered my aversion to fresh air and followed her meekly out of the door of the house (checking for danger - one never knows) and into the field.

I think I managed quite well.  I had my hands in my pockets the whole time which my friend perhaps thought was because of the cold, but in fact I was clutching a card bearing the phone number of a reputable therapist, just in case I needed to book an appointment in a hurry.

There's a lot of green and brown in the countryside; I think I've mentioned this before.  I do worry about the lack of variety and am unreasonably cheered up by the odd daffodil or bit of purple heather.  This is why I prefer Turner's paintings of fiery sunsets to Constable's paintings of the countryside.

Manager of art shop: 'Hey, Constable's been in again.'
Assistant:  'Let me guess.  We're left with a glut of purples and yellows and need to order a shedload more of the green and brown.'
Manager: 'You guessed it.  What's the betting we'll get that chap in who does the Shrek and Incredible Hulk paintings and we'll have to make him wait?'
Assistant: 'And that guy who does the adverts for Cadbury.  He's going to be disappointed again.'
Manager: 'I'll have a word with Constable.  He can't keep doing this.  I mean, who's going to buy paintings as boring as that?  He needs to chuck in the odd sheep at least, or perhaps a farmer wearing a red shirt.'
Assistant: 'I agree. He's never going to make a name for himself.'
Manager: 'There's no telling some people.  Hey, here comes another customer.'
Assistant: 'Arrgh, no.  It's that woman who does the cabbage paintings.  What do we tell her?'

She ended up having to paint aubergines and it wasn't her genre at all.  Next time, she'd shop online.