Practical Magic

Louche found himself almost rigid with stress on Friday, so he decided to decamp to Devon to visit the ancestral pile. He also decided that he would describe the event in the third person since this trip to Devon as a holiday from everything.

He arrived late on Friday night, so late that there was little time for anything but a light supper and sleep. On Saturday he woke up to the sort of golden dewy sunshine that only exists in Constable paintings and memories.

The day didn't involve much, some lounging around with cats and eating cakes while looking at geese. The sort of things a chap needs to do when London gets a little bit too much.

In the afternoon there was some farm work to be done. A pair of pigs were about to move in to a luxury condo near the orchard so a source of water had to be found for them. No-one could remember the exact location of the pipe that ran across the field so a stout dowsing rod was brought out and used to locate it as simply as a chap bringing out his pocket watch to tell the time.

The West Country isn't that far away really, but sometimes it feels like a different world. A world where bits of stick can tell you where water is, kittens make stress disappear and every tin in the kitchen hides another interesting cake

Louche was glad to be home.