burst by Kirsten Svuure
Yesterday morning I woke at 1:30 - happens all the time. Listened to Darren Adam for as long as I could bear to, got up at 3am, and at 3:45 I locked my front door and began to walk out under a sky that was already filling with natural light, alongside the city light. Andover and Salisbury are my two favourite long walks. It's only when I'm about a quarter of the way there that I have to decide which way I shall go - fairly near to the Harold Hillier Gardens the track reaches a junction, and it's straight on for Andover, or left for Salisbury.
This is always a melancholy spot - because whichever way I go I always think of what possible adventures I might've been having if I'd gone the other way. Yesterday was beautiful. And I know that summer happens ever year - but yesterday the non-stop-ness of it made me very happy. There's never a bad month to be out walking - January is just as good as July - but I do try to make it a rule that the days I choose will have some sunshine.
Masses of butterflies, especially just south of Kings Somborne, and just south of Andover. When I was young the countryside was (to me) just a place for insects and a cheap way to get from A to B. Then as I got older I began to dislike seeing too many people out in it. And this feeling peaked during the pandemic, when I really hated all the swarms of people that were out everywhere cos they couldn't go abroad and they'd heard about all this stuff on their doorstep c/o the media.
Yesterday, in the countryside I passed about a dozen people. That's quite a lot, by my standards. Often I pass just 4 or 5. There's a hierarchy of friendliness that I've noticed. Walkers like myself, apparently without a purpose (though we have the biggest purpose of them all) are the friendliest. Dog-walkers are next. Joggers come next. And cyclists are the least friendly. Yesterday I met one cyclist, and he was the friendliest of them all. Otherwise, the hierarchy was fairly accurate.
There were about 5 joggers - all female. Only two said hello. The rest pretended I didn't exist. True, it was very early in the day and they probably weren't expecting or wanting to pass anyone. The rule is that the fatter the jogger, the quieter they are. As for the butterflies, there were millions. That's really heartening.
The second year running when there's been loads around. The walk to Andover has lots to love about it, but it can't quite shine alongside Salisbury - everything is in Salisbury's favour. And Salisbury itself has better charity shops and a better public transport system.
Andover's few but very friendly charity shops threw up nothing worth buying. Which I know is a good thing really. Andover station's ticket offices were closed - which meant there was no one to ask which is the best way back to Southampton - via Basingstoke, or via Salisbury. Oh well, I bought a ticket. But out on the platform there was an official bloke, and i asked him, and he recommended I miss the Basingstoke train that was about to leave soon, and instead wait for the Salisbury one.
This is often a good policy. But it was only when i was sitting waiting for the Salisbury train that I realised that the official bloke was nothing to do with the railway and that he was very drunk and chatting up these two females and being a bit of a pest. I was delighted that his advice was spot on, though, and I got back into town in the middle of the afternoon - time enough to do some of the charity shops here (still nothing), then sleep on the sofa, then walk over to the cinema to watch Earwig, the first wrong move of the day.
Recorded today. Photo yesterday morning on the walk to Andover
