Twice, half way through my post it has disappeared into thin air. I expect I have suddenly hit the wrong key, but it is irritating and I really didn't have time to start again before tea. So here goes - and this time I will go a bit more slowly and watch what I am doing.
Today the farmer (and nineteen other eager walkers) has walked with his walking group. The weather was abysmal - foggy, damp, cold and muddy - mostly walking along the banks of the River Ure.
He seems to have enjoyed it though.
Meawhile, friend W and I took the opportunity to go out for a pub lunch (lovely veggie soup for both, then sea bass (W) and leek, cheese and potato pie (me) - and finally coffee. And all sitting by the fire in a nice warm pub. I know which I prefer.
En route for the pub we met a cyclist struggling up the slope and W stopped to let him pass us, wound down the window and told him to take his time as we were in no hurry. Just a kind word - he smiled and carried on. And we got talking about speaking to folk we meet in the street.
As I get older I am afraid I do it more and more. Never yet have I met with animosity. There is something nice about exchanging a few words with strangers and perhaps making them smile. I am a sucker for babies and always speak to new mums, asking to peep at the baby, asking the baby's name. Mums are always eager to pass on this information and it makes us both smile - and surely that is a good thing.
But thinking about it afterwards I do wonder whether that is because of my sex. W told me of a gentleman friend who saw a young lady approaching. She had the most beautiful hair and he remarked on this as she got up to him. Nothing wrong with that - I think I would be flattered. She however answered, "Do I know You?" He actually replied, "No but you will do next time!"
Thinking about it since - maybe it is different for a man. I often tell ladies I admire their dress, or their hair - or their perfume. I have never met with anyone being cross about it - they always seem to be flattered that someone has noticed (or perhaps they are humouring me and really thinking 'poor old dear'!)
Shall I think twice next time? I doubt it. Until the day when I really put my foot in it, I shall continue as I am doing.