Some moor walking

    Fourteen miles over the moors and pastures to Kirkby Stephen today. Moors.... you know, Heathcliff and the Hound of the Baskervilles?   Didn't see either, unless the hound disguised himself as a sheep.

    The moors don't seem to merit their sinister reputation but we had the best possible  company for walking through geography with desolate literary associations: two sunny Australians!  A kind-hearted teacher and a red-haired,  6'5" policeman who walked in shorts.  He explained that you lose very little heat through your knees.  (For the record, there was a steady drizzle but the high was in the upper 40's, which is good weather for walking, not at all cold if you dress for it and keep moving.)

I thought at first the Aussies had legal problems because they kept talking about the "trial". It turned out they meant the one we were walking on, which was fairly muddy after three days off rain. 

         But it's the rain that keeps England so gloriously green, isn't it. That, and the intensive application of sheep shit.