I’m a city boy.
Well, technically I am, bar a brief interlude during my time in Glasgow, a suburban townie.
I don’t do the country. Not for want of trying; not for want of being asked to try. I don’t do walking shoes, or rucksacks. I definitely do not do ruddy faced happiness in the face of nature.
Though, I do still keep trying. I will always keep trying for want of something different to do with the kids – kids who like animals, dirt and breaking the rules of the countryside.
A jaunt in to the country yesterday reminded me that, whilst I “don’t do”, it’s clear others do. We went to Farndale, North Yorkshire for a daffodil walk. I’ve never been a massive fan of daffodils. I find them in large quantity, near tripping over them with every visit to Waitrose. Funny then that nature of all things could not provide them. Something to do with the cold weather we have been experiencing.
So there I was, in my wholly unsuitable footwear, walking along a stream shrouded in wild garlic and discarded wool – with not a daffodil in sight. Lauren had a great time. She ran about, opened gates – shouted at animals – and uprooted the only daffodil we saw in one particular field. Hopefully there was no DNA evidence left behind at the scene of the crime; not sure I could pay a fine associated with floral vandalism without laughing. We tried to stop her. Honest.
Harry slept all the way round. Fresh air seemed to do him good. Lauren slept all the way home. The fresh air and friends definitely did her the world of good.
We all had a good time. Even I did – even without a mobile signal, the main attraction and a better pint at the midway point.
The outdoors is not for me, but it is for other people. I just happen to know those other people.