Eggbuckland

Last night delivered me the least restless night’s sleep of the break so far. It seems that eating lemon curd yogurt and watching Queer Eye in bed until 3am should be the recipe for future New Years Eves.

Visitors to Plymouth gravitate towards the docks, harbours, coast and city centre arena. I searched for walks that might cover different areas of the city and found an interesting route called the Cooperative Way. This winds around suburbs and green spaces in the northern part of the city. Eggbuckland was my favourite suburb name.

I found a nice steep patch of woodland qualifying as a city nature reserve: Forder Valley. The paths hadn’t seen sun all day so had that iced over crunchy mud and bootprints vibe that is satisfying to walk over. In the middle of the wood I had a coughing fit as some crisps went down the wrong way and had to hide in a thicket so as not to frighten passersby that I had Covid. It’s now socially inappropriate to cough, sneeze, sniff or blow one’s nose in public, regardless of how closely linked to coronavirus these acts are.

Bill my colleague in Liberia urged me to have a good year, coupled with God’s guidance. Shortly afterwards I started humming the Lord is my Shepherd so his message was having an effect.

I went back indoors when I couldn’t feel my face any longer, which timed well with the falling darkness.