Lost in Whittington

Caroline has been teaching this week: we have a young man from Chile staying with us, here on his Summer vacation to improve his English. As a result, I was on dog duty today. It was sunny at home, so I decided to drive up to Whittington, the parish in which we lived for nearly 12 years. There, however, the fog was dense. The footpath I remembered was easy enough to find and follow, through the woods, but when I emerged into the high, open country I felt surprisingly lost. Though the traffic on the A40 seemed nearby, there were none of the usual landmarks - until this familiar, rather beaten up copse came into view - and the sun poked through.