Being Waved At.

I got waved at.

There I was striding purposefully along Mill Lane at twilight, when a Range Rover came along in the opposite direction. I glanced at the driver, as I always do for some reason, but couldn’t see him/her well because it was too dark. What I did notice, though, was somebody in the front passenger seat waving enthusiastically. I think the waver was female, but I couldn’t be sure of that either.

Now, the only person who ever waves to me enthusiastically – in this vicinity or any other – is the much-vaunted Sarah from Mill Lane (she of the rare inner beauty and the cocker spaniel companion, for the benefit of irregular readers.) So I assume it was probably she who was waving. We were quite close to her house, the vehicle was coming from that direction, and when I drew level with her house she wasn’t one of the three women sitting in the kitchen.

I really do like being waved at enthusiastically by Sarah from Mill Lane, the stating of which might encourage certain people on the other side of the world to feel slightly less uncomfortable. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, the proclivity for waving enthusiastically does not imply any desire on the part of the lovely Sarah to steal my heart away, nor should any such proclivity be inferred.

The rolling of eyes is permitted.

And the village pub appears to have re-opened. I might make a post about that one of these days. ‘The Perils of Going into a Village Pub Alone.’ It has nothing to do with werewolves prowling about up on t’moors.