These are the days (of wonder)

My house is at the end of a two kilometre dirt track.

It’s the ONLY house at the end of the track, though judging by ruins half-hidden in the woods there were once three or four neighbours.

At the other end of the track is the road - and the Dolmen - a pile of stones left by some Neolithics who passed by several years distant.

This track is in the middle of nowhere, but things happen here.

At the Dolmen end a camping van has set up home. A week ago it parked, strung up a washing line and clothes appeared between tree and wing mirror.

Then it rained, nothing could dry and the van left.

The sun returned, the van is back and the washing line too.

On Tuesday I left for work and halfway, on the corner where you can stop and look across fields to the west of beyond, two people had. They were sat, side by side in two deckchairs; their legs covered by a warm blanket; parked next to them a VERY bright yellow Morgan Sport car.

Now the Morgan Sport car is a bit of a special. Not only is it British – pretty rare for a car – but it is HANDBUILT!!

The waiting list is about 2 years, the company is run by the son of the son of the father founder, they can produce about 2 a day - AND not only was a Morgan sitting in the middle of nowhere on the track, BUT I was on the way to another part of the middle of nowhere to teach someone who had just bought …..a Morgan Sport car.

Blimey!

Coincidence?

Ask >xxxxxx (removed on request).

Of course, I should have taken a picture. There was something quintessentially “Blackpool on a sunny day” about the scene.

I hesitated.

The camera was on the back seat.

The moment passed.

In between the Morgan and the Camper Van, autumn has established herself in a flamboyant harlequinade of extravagant joy.

Can you say that?

Who cares, I just did and the days are so succulent this week you can smell the exuberance rising from earth and root.