I was going to write you a little post about finishing school, and being nostalgic and everything – but I couldn’t get it to sound right, or at least, sound like something I’d written, so I’ve given up on that altogether. Instead, and so late its probably early, I’m going to talk about how I’ve been preparing for the summer – and give you a tiny bit of a whistle-stop tour of the British countryside. Yesterday, rather than making a dent in the piles of revision I’ve got to do, I took a trip into the woods.
There are, as you might expect, a lot of woods in England. Like, there are some just around the corner from my house, despite me living in the middle of a rather large city. Rather than just wanting to get away, I went to a particular set of woods – one where I should be camping this summer. After spending 3 and half hours driving, arriving somewhere that no-one’s been in years is a strange feeling. The stinging nettles came to my hips, and the ivy covered nearly everything in sight.
In that strange way that abandoned things are, it was beautiful. I cleared it up a little bit, and I’m going to go back again before I camp there to move the fallen tree out of the way of the gate. After traipsing through the woods, and following them down the hill, I came to the village. Well, village is probably a bit of a misnomer. About 20 or so houses, 2 pubs, 2 stop-taps, a phonebox, and toilet block. And the river. It was gorgeous … like the seaside, but without the smell.