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Sunday, 24 February 2013

I Love Sunday's, Roast, Yorkshire pud' & gravy.

There was nobody about today, not even the usual sea bird squawking up above to break the silence. Hengistbury Head; a beautiful piece of land untouched by developers, is usually teaming with walkers bracing the sea air with their pets on a lead; none today, not even a squirrel or any other wild life that this sanctuary normally is home to.
The bitter cold North Westerly wind carrying flurries of snow across the Solent making the scene bleak and desolate like the heart of a winter storm.
There wasn’t the usual weekend sailors out on the water tacking against the breeze either, it was clear of traffic right across to Old Harry Rocks in the murky distance.
So I sat in the warmth of the car, windows shut, heater on, burning the precious petrol that had just cost me £1 40 a litre and felt guilty.
“Lets go home pet, you can finish your sketch in front of the fire in comfort.”
I didn’t need telling twice.
Half an hour later, my booty slippers on, tucked up in my favourite arm chair that has seen better days, looking out of the window to grey heavy skies in the silence of winter, a pencil and pad on my lap and mug of hot tea by my side with the smell of the Sunday roast lamb drifting in from the kitchen, I realised, not for the first time in my life, how lucky I was to be so content. 
Thanks for dropping by.

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