Are you going to have the chance of a real break this summer?
I did, when, last
week, my son Josh and I headed for the Gara valley in Devon for four days at
Watermill Cottages,
owned by my dear friend Christine and her partner, John.
Descending for six full minutes from the village of Slapton, through a
high-hedged one-car-wide lane, towards Higher North Mill, reminded us of going
down a rabbit hole. To discover a real
Wonderland in which to play on our
arrival was sublime.
Then I had a big shock… no wifi in our cottage, no TV and the nearest mobile
signal was a 20 minute steep glute-loving climb up to what Christine calls
‘Texting Corner’.
“Go on, Mum! I dare you!” Josh challenged me. “See if you can go a week
without logging on.”
I knew Christine and John had working wifi next door but I resisted
temptation and indeed took a week off.
Within just 24 hours I had a thumping headache, which, I am pretty sure, was
due to the toxins leaving my body, but then I entered a state of such
mindfulness and bliss that I never wanted to leave.
Poetry swirled round my head. Endlessly, lines from
WB Davies, Wordsworth, Edward Thomas and my new love
Anthony Anaxagorou, replaced the
inane chatter, and slowly I was reminded of what really mattered to me in life –
words, rhyme, metaphor, meaning, nature and laughter.
Just four days
down the rabbit hole and suddenly I saw everything clearly
again. And I wrote and wrote and wrote.
They say TV is ‘chewing gum for the mind’. Now I know it’s true. Take away
technology and magically, out of the tangle of wires I found myself again. And
it was good.
“Oh, no. Back to reality tomorrow,” I said to John on our last night, as we
sat by his woodburning stove, singing along to him on guitar and Josh on double
bass.
“Maybe this is reality,” said John.
Valley of the Senses
Once upon a childhood dream
I searched for fairies by a
stream
and hunkered low by waterfalls,
listened for the
swallow’s call,
dressed in week-old mucky clothes,
felt
wet grass on sandalled toes,
sucked honey from the nettle
flower,
inhaled the mist that filled the air.
And
stopped.
And so today I push my tired hair behind deafened ears,
brace
my blinded eyes
and remind myself to breathe,
in and out
through my heart,
to ignore the constant chatter of my
tinnitus
and monkey mind.
And unwind. 
November 1st, bright sunshine, blue skies and 16C and there we were down on Blackpool Sands with lots more happy dog-owners to celebrate the first day of winter beach bliss for dogs and humans alike.
One of my favourite walks was straight from Barleycorn Cottage, where we were staying, up the Gara River to Gara Mill. Wow it was pretty! There was bright orange cuckoo pint in the hedgerows, butterflies that needed chasing, rocks and trees covered with thick, soft lichen to bounce on. I couldn't get enough of the smells, sights and sounds of the woodland in early summer ... You don't need me to tell you, I ran here, there and everywhere ... well, you have to don't you ... don't want to miss anything ... 
We were away the last week in July - picked a good 'un! It was sunny almost every day but it often took a couple of hours for the sun to penetrate the Gara Valley. We didn't mind, we just loved every moment being able to wander about the place like it was ours. We felt like kings, not canines. We went to the beach at Slapton Sands and Torcross, to Start Point where the lighthouse is, and Lannacombe beach. Lannacombe was my favourite, with lots to explore and rocks to climb, although I had to turn back when I tried to follow my mistress in the canoe heading out to sea.
