the waterlogged tussock grass and the razor-wire heather while I stumbled and swore along in their wake.Thankfully, they stopped at the summit of each tor for a photo call. Which gave me just enough time to catch up before they went bounding off like hyperactive
while I defended my decision to move to the country. They even waited for the dog while he sexually assaulted a golden retriever in the long grass – a weekly occurrence throughout my long association with the geriatric wing of the Harriers. It was a
