The walk that never was

7 January 2016

On Thursday morning I had an appointment with the dentist. Driving there was an option but parking is in short supply near my dentist and I really could have done with the exercise after a very lazy December so I decided to walk. After my appointment I thought I’d have a wander in Hatch Grange which is nearby and then maybe through West End Copse for good measure. I fact I might even walk through Hum Hole on the way there too, three woods in one walk, how much better does it get?

This would have been all well and good but I didn’t count on a night of torrential rain. It had stopped by the time I got up and the weather report suggested the rest of the day would be bright, with maybe a few showers. After the mist fiasco I wasn’t sure whether I should trust the weather report but it did look fairly bright when the time came to leave home. There was blue sky and white cloud and a shower or two probably wouldn’t kill me so I decided to walk anyway.

When I got to Hum Hole though, I could see it was very wet from the night’s rain. Getting bogged down in mud and traipsing it through the dentist’s office didn’t seem a very nice thing to do so I continued up along the bypass road to the top of the hill. It was disappointing but there were still two woods left to explore.

A bit of road walking and I was at the top of Church Hill. It’s a killer hill so I was glad to be going down rather than up, for now at least. Berginia were flowering in a front garden, a few bedraggled looking flowers completely waterlogged from the earlier rain. A few gardens further on daffodils were dancing in the breeze. To be honest, it was more wind than breeze and it was cold, not cold for Janaury but much colder than it has been. Towards the bottom of the hill the road curves in a wide bend and there, between the houses, was a rainbow, or at least part of one. It must have been raining somewhere but, so far, not on me for a change.

Further around the corner I could see the whole sky. The rainbow was very bright and wide but it was just a fraction of an arc. In the distance, the airport was bathed in golden sun, wherever the rain was it certainly wasn’t there. On I walked, my eyes on the sky now, watching the rainbow slowly fade away.

When I finally looked back at the street I was standing in front of a veritable host of daffodils lining a low garden wall, hundreds of them. It’s all very well all these daffodils being confused and flowering now but I can’t help wondering what will happen when spring really does come and they’ve used up all their energy stores on winter.

Then I was passing the thatched cottage at the bottom of the hill. Geraniums were blooming in the tiny garden, tall heads of pale pink flowers and more buds getting ready to follow. At the side of the cottage a mass of pink wallflowers added to the illusion of spring. Right now, if I saw a garden full of sunflowers I don’t think I’d be surprised, this is turning into the most bizarre winter.

From there to the dentist is a few moments walk. Then it was all about prodding poking and polishing. I like my dentist, really I do. I like the receptionists who always have time for a chat, the hygienist who tells me off from time to time but is really a sweetie deep down. The office is lovely, nicely decorated, with comfy seats and there’s coffee and water if you want it. If I could just go for a chat and a sit it would be perfect. Unfortunately, that’s not how it works and I don’t much like the having my teeth messed about with or the worry every time that there will be something wrong meaning pain and money ahead. Probably nobody does.

For more than a quarter of a century I’ve been going to this same place twice a year. When I first walked through the door with the stained glass window I was a young woman with small children. Now I’m a grandmother and not so very young. While she was swooshing away at my teeth were her fancy water jet thingie, the hygienist asked after my boys. They all used to come here too when they were younger. When she paused to let me have a rest I gave her a run down on what they were all up to now before she started working again.
“How’s the baby?” she asked.
For a moment I didn’t realise what she was talking about and, as I had my moouth full of techie stuff, not to mention her fingers, I tried to convey this by a puzzled look and a strangled noise.
“Your baby granddaughter, well she’s probably not a baby now is she? Haven’t you got two now?”
“Ashleigh is fifteen now and Bea is nine,” I told her.
“Goodness me, where does all the time go. I was thinking they were still toddlers.”

Luckily, this time all was well and I came out, slightly poorer, with sparkly teeth that felt like new, glad it was over for six more months. Before I left I went to the loo and, as I looked at my face in the mirror while I washed my hands I thought of how much it must have changed since that first visit. It occurred to me we are all slowly growing older without really realising or noticing. The hygienist was right, where does all the time go?

Now it was time for my woodland walk. Eagerly I trotted down to the small garden I discovered a while ago. There was a great deal of mud at the top of the steps leading to the hill so I walked through the garden, stoping to look at the crocuses that have come up far too soon, and out the other side towards the main gate. Perhaps it would be better there?

If anything it was muddier. I braved it as far as the avenue of limes and looked along them longingly. It had been a precarious journey to get that far and I didn’t fancy going any further, especially with the distinct possibility of ending up sitting in a muddy puddle. Feeling frustrated I turned and left. Two woods down, one to go and the chances of the next one being any better were looking slim.

Across the road I noticed an old fire station building. Where did that come from? There was a sign outside telling me this was The Old Fire Station Museum.  There seems to be something odd going on in these parts. Twenty five plus years I’ve been walking up and down this road yet I didn’t notice the little garden and the huge Hatch Grange park until last June, now there was the fire station. Either I’ve been walking about with my eyes shut almost half my life or someone is putting these things here when I’m not looking. The museum didn’t look like it was open and it seemed like the sort of place CJ would like so I filed it in my memory banks for another day.

Of course, when I got there West End Copse was as muddy as everywhere else. Bizarrely, a hebe, a summer flower, was putting on a wonderful show on the edge of the wood. This had turned out to be the walk that never was, at least as far as strolling through the woods went. Distance wise there was plenty of walking and there were certainly a lot of out of season flowers to look at, so much so it felt as if we were on the verge of spring. Maybe I need to content myself with whatever I can get at the moment. It is winter after all, even if it doesn’t really feel like it. Oh well, road walking it is then.