All this week, I've been lucky enough to wake in the Cotswolds, as friends have let me stay in their house in exchange for some light duties including cat feeding whilst they are away. They have a lovely house in a semi-rural hilly setting, and the location could not be more different than my own house.
Where I live, on the far outskirts of London, near a train line, and under the flight path for Heathrow, there is a constant buzz from one form of transport or another: planes, trains and automobiles indeed.
Here, there is far less traffic and much less noise.
I was sitting out this evening, listening to cows lowing across the valley, and staring at the stars. There are more stars visible here than I saw in the Red Center of Australia, where there are far fewer lights. Oh, there was the occasional plane, for sure, dragging itself slowly and blinkingly across the sky. But in the main it was sky and stars.
Then I glimpsed a shooting star.If that's not the icing on the cake, then I just don't know anything about sweet, baked, breadlike foods often found hanging around birthday parties.