Distance: 21.6km
Accessibility: A great walk for everyone. Solid paths, and although a steady incline in places, one of the few weeks this year that is almost totally accessible.
Landscape: Open ground and hillside
A few weeks remain. I want to ensure you get another good walk. That I stretch myself, and provide some decent final chapters.
I will miss these journeys. Nothing stops me from continuing, but my obligations to this book has been such useful fire. A few weeks of rain will stop the rhythm without a deadline to force me out.
So Clifer Denn seemed perfect. A two hour walk that is flat and open. Lots of space to think.
The path is solid dirt, with yellow arrows pointing the way. A few apples are skewered on the branches of what little trees run alongside the route. But apart from that you have a view of the landscape all around. Fleecy clouds hovered about the hills, and grey stone cottages no bigger than dice clung to the horizon.
Walks are such a useful tool. A free creative resource that is not appreciated enough. Whenever a particular plot tangent blocked the Butter Mouse’s latest adventure, I headed to the streets, and found the answer. This is different in the city of course, with the crowds of people, and the millions of moments to spark off, but the methodology still worked.
I had thought Clifer Denn was a perfect place to continue this technique. But instead I found myself boiling over. This is the one problem with using the monotony of movement to find solutions. You can find yourself down a track of negative emotion, with nothing to stop you deviating into rage.
Again I thought back to that night with Archie.
I was sitting on the sofa in the middle of the studio, the crew rushing around me. Television interviews were not uncommon in my schedule at that point, and I understood the frantic nature found two minutes before a live broadcast. But did the cameraman need to swear? Why did the sound recordist’s hands shake?
Archie did not even say hello beforehand. He appeared thirty seconds before the lights went live. His eyes were large and unfocused. En route to the stage he shouted at some poor young woman, and she shrank away. This was his co-worker, and she physically winced. The boy with the bucket in the holiday cottage.
Perhaps if I had said something at that point, we could have stopped everything. Cut to a pre-record, and scrambled for time. But then he was perched on the sofa, his breath too fast and shallow. A stranger.
We were rolling thirty seconds later.
How could I have known what was going to happen. How would I know he would burn the bo
::I won't miss the walks Barbara. But we must complete the spell.
The final edit will be glorious. I will spend a delightful few months sitting around the house, adding and cutting and honing. In the daytime, away from the moon. Every night the shadow of that crater get bigger. A huge dark wormhole. The whole moon has become a blood red spy. And now it watches in the day time as we
We can get the final draft for June at the latest, and with a bit of work we can get this released by Christmas next year. Happy to look at interviews and promos as needed. We can discuss the Butter Mouse too. I don’t think anyone will be burning books these days.
I know you don’t want me to discuss the incident, but the audience want to know. They want the inside story. They do. It is the biggest video clip if you search for the Butter Mouse online. Trust me, I’ve looked!
Maybe I've misinterpreted this year. Maybe there is nothing going on round here at all. We will find out next time anyway. If my theory is correct.
I still love him.::
