On Things to Like and the Lure of Lambs.

I’ve been taking my daily walk in the evening the past few days, and yesterday evening I was reminded that there are things about this world and this life which I quite like.

I like the vernal greening of the trees and hedgerows, the swathes of bluebells lining the path through the narrow wood further up the lane, the mass of heavy pink blooms, alluringly backlit by the westering sun, adorning a lone cherry tree, and the sight of a rural landscape dotted with fields and copses stretching to the high Staffordshire Moorlands through a succession of half tones.

But the big thrill last night was contained within the field at the top of the lane. The new lambs are there now – a week or so old, bright eyed, endearingly innocent, and determinedly frolicsome. Several of them came to investigate the curious giant creature which stood on two legs and leant on the gate. It’s odd how the stare of a young lamb can hold you almost intoxicated for quite a long time.

The mothers were there as well, of course, and one of them was becoming quite concerned. Mrs 36 was evidently a little suspicious of this giant creature standing on two legs, and was bleating mightily to attract her little one to the safety of her side. Unfortunately, only Baby 47 was answering the call and that wouldn’t do. Baby 36 didn’t appear, and I took to assuming that he was the Harry Potter of the flock and was too busy investigating whether there was a way to get out of the field and escape into the wood next door. The glances which Mrs 36 kept shooting at me suggested she suspected me of having stolen her baby, and seemed entirely mistrustful of my repeated assertions that I was but an innocent bystander in the affair.

Eventually I left to continue a laboured perambulation, conscious all the time of a sea of bright human faces with open, eager mouths, tucking into their roast dinners and exclaiming: ‘Nice joint of lamb, this.’