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.
|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.
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.|