without Millie, I could have saved myself a walk with all views hidden under a grey and chilly blanket of fog.
Come on, she says, what’s keeping you. Can’t let a bit of fog stop you. The black speck half-way up the left hand side, that’s her, waiting for me to open a field gate.
For all of you who expressed admiration for the beautiful English countryside on my doorstep, let me tell you that this is a very familiar scene too.
These hills are closer to Valley’s End than yesterday’s, but in fine weather the view would have been very similar to those a mile up the valley. There’s a lot of this throughout the winter. When fog descends, it tends to stay, unless a sharp wind blows it away or a generous helping of rain flushes it down the river.