“Give us a wiggle,” Chris exhorted, trying very hard to be cheerful, considering I had been so sour from the moment of waking.
“No, I can’t,” I said disconsolately. “I’m too ugly, fat…and deaf!”
After over two weeks of suffering from a nasty virus, this morning, although better in myself, I had awoken to find myself completely deaf in one ear, and it was in my good ear at that. No amount of yawning, nose-blowing, massage or ear drops did anything to help.
Now if you’re a regular visitor to my blog you will know that I’m generally a happy soul, and also that nothing makes me happier than going out for a cycle ride on a nice sunny day; and when I’m riding my bike, and extremely happy, I’m rather apt to give a little wiggle (surreptitiously) from time to time to inform Chris (who always cycles behind me) that everything is well with the world and me (and Chris and me).
“Are you sure you’re up to going?” Chris asked.
I nodded. The bikes were already at the top of the steps, the sun was shining and I knew that a ride would lighten my mood – it always does.
In a few moments, having grumpily passed a group of jostling large pedestrians (or so it seemed to me in my mood) on the small pavement outside our house, we were coasting down the hill to Dawlish town centre. The rush of air going through my hair was exhilarating. We were on our way to the ford, close enough not to be a demanding ride for a person recuperating from a virus but far enough to feel the benefit; and the ford is always a lovely place to visit. Two girls of about fourteen, both wearing jodhpurs, let us pass them on the Newhay path, past the church, just before it narrows on the bridge. They caught us up at the ford some minutes later and we exchanged pleasantries before they continued on their way to a horse farm farther up the road.
The field on the other side of the fence by the ford had recovered from its recent encounter with tractors and baling machines, and already the new grass was lush, green and filled with little daisies; thistles were coming into flower and the leaves on the trees had turned a darker, more mature green denoting that, indeed, we are in Summer. This time there were no families with tots playing in the water, it was just Chris and me, and a lady passing by, waving, in her blue car.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” I asked as we stood on the bridge.
Chris took me in his arms and we kissed. (I bet a lot of people have kissed on that tiny bridge over the ford.)
On the way home, just the other side of Aller Arch (the top of which comprises part of the grand driveway to ‘The Castle’), we stopped and wondered at the sight of an older man in an orange jacket. The red sign close-by on the road informed of ‘ Delays, hedge trimming’ and Chris and I smiled at one another – there was nothing coming in any direction. Suddenly, as if by divine intervention, a cyclist appeared ahead of a tractor; one car appeared, and then another; a lady out cycling with her children came from the town direction, and they had to get off and wait while two trucks, a van and other cars vied for space to pass. At the point of total gridlock yet another car pulled in to wait it out by the Newhay path; inside the car were our friends and neighbours, Catherine and Martin, and his parents Ian and Pearly, who are down on holiday from Scotland.
Before long the gentleman in orange had cleared the gridlock successfully and everyone went on their ways, including us. I managed to raise a few wiggles as I went over the speed bumps in the town centre but I’m still as deaf as a post.
