The Substitute Post.

I was talking to Mel earlier and she gave me the perfect cue as to what I should write a post about tonight. And now I’ve completely forgotten what it was. That’s usual for me these days.

So instead I’ll mention in passing that my walk route this morning took me along Church Lane so that I could see whether the wheat crop had been harvested yet. (I get oddly concerned about that sort of thing. No idea why.) Most of it had; two or three fields to go and then the harvest will be safely gathered in. (Ah, maybe that’s where my concern comes from – being a churchgoing Christian as a kid and singing hymns at harvest festival time. Certain things stay with you, don’t they, whether you want them to or not? Or maybe I was a dormouse in a previous life. Who can tell?)

So I stood for a while watching a tractor towing a roll baling machine in one of the mown fields. It’s curiously compelling to watch the chaff being taken up into the machine while clouds of dust are expelled through vents at the side. And it’s nothing less than mildly exciting when every so often the vehicle stops and a perfectly circular, tightly bound bale of straw is ejected from the rear.

I imagined a little boy standing with his mother and watching the spectacle with a mild sense of awe. Eventually he looked up at her and said ‘Mummy, that machine just did a poo.’ Because that’s how my mind works and I’m so very ashamed of the fact.

Meanwhile, I’ve moved on from listening to Julie Fowlis. Tonight it’s Sheila Chandra. Listening to Sheila Chandra’s gloriously rich, dark, Indian voice is like eating a piece of the best Belgian 85% cocoa chocolate flavoured with just a hint of passion fruit. And some of the songs are a bit weird, which suits me.