Out on the Wild and Windy Moors

I glance back at these pages and find I've lazily not written a single word for 10 days. Actually, it's not mere laziness. I have a busy time of it these days, I'll have you know.

Let's take last weekend, for example. It was all set to be a quiet "lets-stay-by-the-fire-and-do-very-little" sort of affair. Then Betty Slobb decided to come and stay with us for a  couple of days while MinorEarthQwake was off being trained to do something or other.

And she needed some bits and bobs taken down to Truro in the removal van of mum, which found us emerging from our cocoon at an ungodly hour for a Saturday and heading west.

Eventually to find ourselves in Betty and MEQ's new abode.

After the womenfolk had done the heavy lifting and furniture positioning while I helpfully looked on, we bought a pasty and something sweet each before heading off for a trek up on Bodmin Moor.

Local readers might be aware that it's been a bit chilly over the last few days. So it made some sort of sense, I suppose, to head off into the coldest place in Cornwall to enjoy the seasonal temperatures. We ate our pasties in our small pink toaster of a car, watching light snow flurries swirl outside the windows, then bravely set off to see what the frozen highlands had to offer.

Through the Hurlers, toward the Cheesewring.

And, yes, it was bloomin' cold. We were well wrapped up, though.

The small ponds and puddles were all frozen solid.

But that meant we could all play at walking on water.

We marched our way cross country to the unfrozen quarry pool to the west (I think) of the Cheesewring - lovely spot.

Complete with icicles, mind.

Did I mention that it was a bit chilly, at all?

We came across a larger pool higher on the moor where we obviously weren't the only ones who thought a game of throw-a-stone-at-the-ice would be a grand idea. It's good job we're never ever silly. At all.

We spent quite a long time playing at that frozen pool. And why not?

Did I mention earlier that we were well wrapped up? That was, indeed, true of Mrs The Millbrooker and me. But not quite so true of Betty Slobb who might have needed some home comforts when we got back to Millbrooker Towers that early evening.