In the alternative universe where a certain microbe didn’t leap from a bat, there’s a version of me holidaying in Barcelona right now. (NOTE: I am neither a virologist nor a quantum physicist). And even though my version of me is serval hundred quid lighter and stuck in England, it’s great to be able to do some of the simple things that make life feel normal. For the last couple of weekends, this has meant walking through the South Downs with the dogs, and spending time in the pub with friends. Just like people used to do back in Normal Times.
But it’s hard to know which way things are going, on all levels. Photos are a lot easier than words for me right now. There’s a sense of Autumn in the air, and it feels like there might be a storm coming.
There’s a polo game going on over there in the fields. No spectators allowed these days due to Covid.
It’s not easy being this handsome
The dogs and the chickens co-exist relatively peacefully
And in the pub with friends. As it should be.
On the tipsy shuffle back home at sundown and past the ruins of Cowdray House, destroyed by fire in September 1793