Reasons why Fran will avoid woods for the foreseeable future
I arrived back on Friday from a week in Wales with my son, daughter-in-law and two grandchildren. (Just then, I typed 'groundchildren' instead of 'grandchildren', and soon you will see how ironic that is.) If you've been following this blog for a while, you'll know not to expect post-holiday descriptions of lush landscapes, snippets of pastoral poetry or anecdotes about my daredevil surfing exploits. Oh, okay, then. Here's a waterfall. But that's all you're getting of anything postcardy. The weather forecast, as we left the Midlands to drive to Wales, was not favourable. In fact, we had packed raincoats, umbrellas, wellingtons and a book entitled 'First Aid for the Drowning.' For most of the week, however, the rain lashed down during the nights, then in the daytime the sun shone, burning and shrivelling any exposed face or limb without mercy. We slapped on sun cream but not as fast as the sun slapped our cheeks and foreheads. Oh, all ri